


Heartbreaker

by a_thousand_deaths



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Puppy Love, Rating: M, Self-Esteem Issues, Side Eugene/Jesse, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 59,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_thousand_deaths/pseuds/a_thousand_deaths
Summary: Seiji is already the top fencer at school if not the country, his GPA is insane considering the amount of time he can afford to study, and he’s achingly handsome in that awful, conventional way-- perfect hands, lean and agile, that have just the right amount of roughness to them, perfectly straight nose made for looking down on people (mainly Nicholas), perfectly placed mole to emphasize his midnight eyes, glaring from underneath his perfectly styled jet black hair.He also happens to dick down like they’re giving out gold medals for it.
Relationships: Nicholas Cox/Seiji Katayama
Comments: 74
Kudos: 179





	1. "I'm here to rescue you."

_ Oh ! si tu pouvais lire dans mon coeur, tu verrais la place où je t'ai mise ! _

_ Oh! If you could read my heart, you would see the place I have given you there! _

-Flaubert 

Seiji Katayama is, hands down, the best French kisser at King’s Row.

No question.

Granted, if Aiden were still here, he’d give him a run for his money. Not that Aiden would ever look twice at Nicholas, or that Nicholas would ever be dumb enough to mess around with someone who might as well have HEARTBREAKER written on their forehead in all caps.

But Aiden is in his freshman year at Yale, and rumor has it these days he never looks twice at anyone but Harvard. Nicholas has a twenty riding on a bet with Eugene that there’ll be an engagement by the end of the year. 

That said, the fact remains that Seiji has no competition. 

_ None_.

It’s utter bullshit. 

Seiji is already the top fencer at school if not the country, his GPA is insane considering the amount of time he can afford to study, and he’s achingly handsome in that awful, conventional way-- perfect hands, lean and agile, with just the right amount of roughness to them, perfectly straight nose made for looking down on people (mainly Nicholas), perfectly placed mole to emphasize his midnight eyes, glaring from underneath his perfectly styled jet black hair. 

He also happens to dick down like they’re giving out gold medals for it.

Nicholas would know. He wasn’t exactly popular at his old school, but then again he wasn’t exactly picky, either. Truthfully he wasn’t as picky as he should have been, given Seiji’s reaction when he met Alex the one time, but whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers, and if Nicholas’ ex was kinda shitty, and Nicholas misread where things stood between them, at least he had gotten laid, so.

So. The point is, Nicholas does have some experience, and he can say with no small authority that Seiji Katayama is as much a champion at this as he is at everything else.

It would be more annoying, if Nicholas wasn’t getting nailed to his mattress by his best friend AKA the world’s most obnoxious prodigy on the regular (Seiji refuses to do anything on his own bed, which Nicholas finds hilarious), but as is, he’s far too strung out on the best sex of his life to care.

Mostly.

********************************

The whole thing started with that idiotic booth at Winter Fest. But, if Nicholas took the time to think about it, it began well before that. Before the Eastern Division Fall Tournament, and the hospital, even, their first kiss the culmination of something that had been building since last summer. 

It was the end of June, a dull slog of a Wednesday in the middle of the week, when Seiji texted him about Nationals.

Nicholas was at work, trying not to marinate in his own sweat. He stood underneath the window unit at Joe’s, letting the lukewarm air hit the back of his neck and wiping at his sticky forehead.

He had gone back to cleaning for his old coach again. The money situation, never great at the best of times, was downright bleak: Nicholas not only needed to pay for summer fencing lessons but, on top of that, help his mom out with Kings’ Row. His scholarship covered tuition, but it was crazy how much textbook costs could add up.

As his crap luck would have it, since Nicholas was a minor there were limits to how many days he could be on the clock. That meant he hit the six days a week maximum every time, desperately pinching pennies and still coming up short. By midsummer he was down to casting around for odd jobs here and there, house sitting or lawn mowing, anything he could get. 

Nicholas worked a hand through his hair, tugging at the tangles while he swiped past postings on Craigslist. _ A whole lotta nothing. _ He wrinkled his nose at the stink of leftover perfume from last night’s salsa lesson turning sour in the morning heat, opening up the dog walking app Eugene had recommended and favoriting a litter of dachshunds. It was only eleven o’clock, but the temperature outside was soaring, the parking lot shimmering through the glass doors while the air conditioner wheezed like it had taken a hit.

Nicholas had a sinking feeling that the thing was on its last legs, and he crossed his fingers that it would hold out for one more month. Then he would be back at school, back at the salle at King’s Row, where the air drifted in crisp as a hundred dollar bill.

In the meantime, though…

_ Back to the grind. _

Mop handle in hand, Nicholas pocketed his phone and began pushing dirty water from one end of the gym to the other, pausing when he heard a chirp to fish it out again. He and Bobby had a death match going with _ Words with Friends_, and Nicholas refused to lose for the third time in a row.

But when he checked his phone, it wasn’t a message from Bobby.

(Did you ever decide if you were going to Summer Nationals?)

Nicholas flinched, raking his fingers through his hair again. Like most of Seiji’s texts, it was blunt and straight to the point... but, for once, it wasn’t Seiji’s fault he had struck a nerve. Nicholas had clawed his way up into qualifying for the National Summer Tournament, but it didn’t matter. It was too expensive to do that and pay for fencing lessons and help his mom with bills. 

Still. It was nice of Seiji to ask. 

(😬 can’t. the entrance fee is 2 much.) 

Before Nicholas could put his phone back in his pocket, it chirped. 

(You could stay at my house. Then you wouldn’t need to pay for a hotel room.)

Nicholas blinked, staring at the screen. He had lived in what amounted to Seiji’s back pocket for the better part of a year, and, whether through forced proximity or an unpredictable twist of fate, they had been best friends most of that time. 

Nicholas hadn’t been to his house once.

(are u sure?)

(I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.)

(YESSSSSSS!!! THANK U I will be neat I swear you won’t even know I’m therrrrrre promise 👼!) If he worked the rest of this week and next weekend, he should have the money to pay the early bird entrance fee, and that would save him--

Another chirp.

(I predict that by day two your room will be a complete disaster as per usual.)

(maybe I will surprise u)

(True. You never cease to amaze me.) It was funny; even through text, Nicholas could picture Seiji’s raised eyebrows and his dark, impenetrable gaze, hear the dry, dead-pan way he delivered all his backhanded compliments.

(stop, u are making me blush 😉)

The chirping stopped after that, and Nicholas wondered if Seiji was practicing with Dmytro, although that would be outside his normal routine. Seiji always always always practiced at the ass crack of dawn. 

It was summer, though. Even Seiji Katayama broke the rules once in a while, right?

Nicholas snorted, nibbling at a hangnail. He’d believe it when he saw it.

He had finished the floor and was rinsing out the bucket when he remembered something he had been meaning to ask Seiji.

(hey, what are u doing for yr birthday?)

Last summer Seiji had been in Paris, a fact he let slip one day at lunch after Nicholas pestered Eugene one too many times to share his eclair. 

“I don’t see why you care,” Seiji had said. “That abomination scarcely deserves the name. Any Parisian worth their salt would throw it in the trash after one bite.”

“How would you know?” asked Nicholas, never one to miss an opportunity to set Seiji down a peg or three. 

“I lived there for over a year, moron, that’s why I had to fight you in that regional match in the first place. When I went back to visit before Kings’ Row started up, my host mother made me some for my birthday.” Seiji turned up his nose at his own eclair, which had been banished to the far corner of his plate. “This is nothing like the genuine article.” He slid his tray across the table, rolling his eyes at Nicholas’ fist pump, and that was that. Nicholas had been too busy shoveling the eclair into his mouth to ask for the details.

Later on in the fall Harvard and Aiden had thrown a party at the clubhouse following their first major win, and when Seiji accidentally ate one of the special brownies, Nicholas had brought up the trip. He was expecting to hear a long, drawn out swan song to creme brulee and the superiority of French culture, topped with a generous serving of bitching about Nicholas’ phony accent. 

Instead Seiji sighed, hand wrapped around the base of his neck like he was having one of his migraines, and said: “It was lonely.” 

Seijj didn’t do hugs as a general rule, but Nicholas had hugged him anyway. Even more disturbing, Seiji let him, and when Nicholas dragged him back to their room and turned on _ Blue Planet II_, he didn’t complain about the dirty towels on the floor once. 

He lay back on his pillow, staring past the television to some place vaster and farther away than the Pacific, eventually falling asleep on Nicholas’ shoulder.

That shit wasn’t going to fly this year. Not if Nicholas had anything to do about it. 

The phone chirped.

Judging by Seiji’s reply, his intervention was needed. Stat.

(My father signed me up for an SAT prep course.) 

From anyone else, that would be a joke. 

But Nicolas had met Katashi Katayama, and he knew better. 

(_seriously? _)

(It’s not a big deal. I don’t care about birthdays, anyway.)

(but it’s ur 17th birthday!! u have to do something! 😐)

(I am sure there will be ice cream at some point.)

Nicholas watched the dot dot dot symbol materialize on the screen, ripping his hangnail off with one decisive bite.

The ellipses disappeared as Seiji sent another text. (Don’t worry about it, Nicholas. _ Seriously._)

(if u say so. btw what’s ur address, my mom’ll want to know when I tell her I’m staying with u) This was a flat out lie-- she’d barely notice he was gone, but Seiji didn’t know that. And Nicholas didn’t want him to figure out what he was up to. 

Not yet.

_ I will surprise you, Seiji Katayama. And you won’t have to wait till Nationals for me to do it, either. _

After he finished up and went home, Seiji’s address in his back pocket, Nicholas sat on his bed and did some research. According to the dates posted on the official website, Nationals began a full three weeks after Seiji’s birthday. He’d never in a million years expect Nicholas to show up on his doorstep that far ahead of time, which was why it was a brilliant plan.

Nicholas had shot his mom a text right after he got the address from Seiji, and getting permission from her was as easy as he had expected, especially once he explained how it wouldn’t affect his helping with tuition. When he talked with Joe later that afternoon, his old coach was as laid back with his schedule as ever.

Best of all, the train went in a straight shot from Hartford to New Haven, and the ticket was dirt cheap, to Nicholas’ vast relief.

The two weeks flew by, and before he knew it Nicholas was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and packing his ratty old duffel. He jammed his towel, sunscreen and flip flops on top of everything else and sat down on the bag while he zipped it shut. Then he lint rolled his uniform and put it on, looked in the mirror and lint rolled it again, because the dog walking gig he had taken to make up for the days he’d be at Nationals had resulted in him getting fur on every item of clothing he owned. 

_ Who knew dachshunds shed this much? _

As he was locking the apartment door, Nicholas checked his pocket no less than three times for the printout of his ticket. 

Then he grabbed his jacket and knotted his tie and started walking. 

The Amtrak station was two miles away from his house, and in the early morning light he had the streets to himself. It was hot, even though the day had scarcely begun, and no one who could get away with it was up this early on a Saturday.

Nicholas was roasting after the first fifteen minutes, his face damp when he wiped it with the back of his arm, and as he walked up to the window, the lady at the ticket counter eyed him dubiously. Nicholas gave her his best smile, and she smiled back in spite of herself. “Your tie is crooked, darlin’,” she said.

_ Christ, you’d think after wearing a uniform for a year I’d be better at this… _

Before he could screw it up any further she took pity on him and took the tie in her hands, adjusting and smoothing it down with a few easy motions of her fingers.

“Thanks,” Nicholas said. 

“Isn’t school out?” she asked. “What’s with the uniform?”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to see my friend. His dad is strict, and I need to impress him.”

She nodded. “Smart to dress up.”

“Thanks,” he said again.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “You clean up nice. I’m sure your boyfriend’s dad will love you.”

“Oh, he’s not my...” Nicholas began, but she had turned to the lady behind him and was asking for her ticket. 

This far into summer break, the train was largely empty, and Nicholas managed to find a row of seats to himself. He plopped the bag in the seat next to him and pressed his forehead against the chill of the glass, watching as the city fell away and the countryside began.

The scenery was nice, probably. Nicholas didn’t notice any of it. His mind kept circling around to a Monday in May, right before school let out. Some guy had come in from Seiji’s old fencing salle to tour campus, some prospie with boat shoes and fancy sunglasses, and Nicholas got saddled with him. Walking along the drainage canal on the way to the gym, Jared had seemed okay, if a stereotypical bro, but when Nicholas mentioned Seiji, he snickered, giving Nicholas an incredulous look.

“Were we _ friends_?” Jared repeated scornfully. “I doubt Seiji Katayama has ever had a single friend his entire life. They call him the Night King on the circuit, but I remember when he was a scared, stammering eight year old who barely said a word except to his coach. Dull as a dead fish, except when he started talking about France, and then he’d never shut up. He’s as pitiful as he was back then-- he hides it better now, is all. But you’re smarter than we were, aren’t you?” Jared sniggered. “You’ve figured it out. Pal around and pretend to give a shit while he drones on about the Louvre, and get all the fencing tips you’ll ever need.” 

He hadn’t been laughing after Nicholas shoved him into the crusty, algae-covered ditch. 

He had choked and sputtered and splashed, every last trace of coolness sunk to the bottom along with his designer Ray Bans.

That had been worth the month of detention twice over.

But it gave a new weight to the idea that Seiji wasn’t doing anything for his birthday. When he thought about that too long, Nicholas got a heavy feeling in his chest, one that he couldn’t quite identify. 

All he knew was that he didn’t want Seiji to spend another birthday alone.

So Nicholas had packed his bag and bought his ticket and now he found himself sitting on the cracked leather, cuffing and uncuffing his shirt sleeves over and over and wondering if he had lost his mind.

Way too quickly the hour was over. The train pulled into Union Station and Nicholas got off, shouldering his duffel and unlocking his phone to bring up GoogleMaps. Seiji’s house was in the lower half of a neighborhood called East Rock, on Linden Street-- around three miles away, about an hour long trek. Nicholas would have walked it, but Seiji got finished with practice and left for class at 8:30 AM sharp, which Nicholas knew because he had spent the past week receiving a stream of grumpy texts from Seiji complaining about having to cut his morning practice short. That meant Nicholas needed to be at the house at 8:15 at the very latest, and it was 7:45 now. Nicholas sucked it up, paying a buck fifty to Bike New Haven and unlocking a lime green cruiser. 

Seiji lived in New Haven proper, close enough to Yale that his neighborhood was full of Ivy Leaguers, preppy and pristine in their polos and khakis, even during the relaxed summer semester. Pedaling through campus, past the ancient buildings and green quads, with a pleasant breeze blowing through the elms, Nicholas felt like he was in Hogwarts. Yale belonged on a postcard; he was sure that no one who lived there had ever encountered anything resembling the world that Nicholas knew. Nicholas imagined a baby Seiji, the timid one from the picture Bobby had shown him on Facebook, brooding and watchful, imprinting on the New England bluebloods like a duckling, absorbing everything he was meant to be.

His immaculate oxfords, the ruler straight part in his hair, his obsession with Jesse Coste, who coupled peerless skill with a faultless pedigree: in this light, they made total sense. 

Nicholas skidded to a stop at a redlight, gnawing his bottom lip. He smoothed down his own tie awkwardly and squinted at a shop window, trying to see his reflection.

His hair, despite his having taken the time to brush it this morning, had in the span of two hours managed to descend into a kind of fluffy chaos. Nicholas grimaced at his face in the glass and rolled his shirt sleeves up again. He had been on the fence about whether cuffing them was too casual or not, but now that he had gotten here, he realized--what was the point? 

Even dressed up, with a properly tied tie for once and in his best pair of secondhand loafers, Nicholas Cox would still stick out in this crowd like a sore thumb. 

The closer he came to Seiji’s house, the slower he pedaled, but it didn’t matter. Eventually he got there anyway.

He parked his bike off to the side of an unbroken wave of grass, not too high and not too short, where a house, spotless white with a refined grey trim, hid behind a screen of long limbed spruce trees, begging to be climbed.

It was beautiful, but in a restrained way. Not ostentatious in the slightest; pure class, through and through.

The sight of it made Nicholas’ stomach turn over uneasily, made him straighten his tie for the millionth time and run a hand through his hair, even though he knew it was pointless.

He closed his eyes, thinking of Seiji’s face when he asked him about Paris, and then Nicholas Cox set his jaw, squared his shoulders, and marched up to the house with the columned porch and the koi pond and the Tesla in the driveway.

_ Here goes nothing. _

A taller, silver haired version of Seiji opened the door to his knock, calm and dignified in a white button up that would never dare to wrinkle, and Nicholas greeted him with a dazzling smile. Ever since Nicholas met Seiji’s dad during Visitation Weekend, Mr. Katayama had taken a peculiar shine to him, much like a champion Doberman might humor the antics of a rescue puppy nipping at his heels.

Nicolas would need to harness every sliver of that advantage if he was going to pull this off.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Mr. Katayama,” he said, and swooped in for a hug before Seiji’s dad could get a word in edgewise. Mr. Katayama stiffened, but then he folded his arms around Nicholas, less of an embrace than a surrender.

It was an enormous improvement over last time, when he stood there rigid as a blade until Nicholas gave up and let go.

“Nicholas,” said Mr. Katayama, and stopped. His eyebrows had risen a good inch over his forehead, and he scratched his head above his ear, blinking. “Seiji isn’t here,” he said, with the customary Katayama tactlessness. “And I’m leaving for work soon.”

“Oh, I know,” Nicholas said, his smile widening. “I came early, to talk to you. Alone.”

“Is this about Kings’ Row?” Mr. Katayama stared at Nicholas, his eyes as dark and enigmatic as his son’s. 

“Nope,” said Nicholas, inching his way in. “It’s about Seiji. He’s been having some trouble...”

And with that, he had Katashi Katayama’s undivided attention.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a metallic rasp as the door eased open, kicking Nicholas’ heart rate up a few notches. 

Seiji slipped inside, gliding around the bag Nicholas had dumped on the floor, fresh and fleet footed as a dancer even after two hours of Dmytro’s unforgiving instruction. He had his workout gear slung over his shoulder, clean-cut in his grey sweatpants and navy shirt, a Starbucks cup in his hand. His hair was falling into his eyes, making him even more striking than usual, and Nicholas felt his stomach clench. 

_ Too late to change my mind now. _

“I apologize for being late, father,” Seiji said, and then he saw Nicholas and ran smack into the edge of a dresser, dropping his keys, bag, and latte onto the floor, the coffee arcing in an extravagant spray all over the carpet and his sweatpants. “Shit!” he said, batting wildly at the stain with his hands, and Nicholas felt a fit of giggles coming on. He knelt down next to Seiji, biting the inside of his cheek before any could escape, and started mopping up the floor with one of his workout towels.

“Smooth move,” Nicholas said in an undertone, smirking, and Seiji gawked at him, eyebrows raised high enough that they were hidden under his messy hair. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his mouth hanging open even after he finished the question. 

Nicholas winked at him. “I’m here to rescue you,” he said.

Seiji’s jaw dropped even further. He sat down on the floor, the stain forgotten, fingers still curled around his Starbucks, blinking like a bird who’d hit a window full tilt and never even seen it coming. 

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Seiji.” Nicholas flicked the edge of his ankle discreetly. “I told your dad everything.” 

“Everything,” said Seiji, studying the inside of the empty cup as if to find an answer there.

“It’s OK.” Nicholas flicked him again, harder this time. “Don’t worry about the SATs. You need to grab your bathing suit though, because if we’re going to the beach we gotta leave now, or else we’ll get caught in traffic.”

“I need to prepare for my class,” Seiji said mechanically, rising to his feet. “That is,” he started, and then paused. “I can’t--” Seiji wavered, peering down at his father, his face much younger for an instant. 

“Forget your class. Go to the beach,” said Mr. Katayama, and Seiji closed his eyes, giving his head a forceful shake, like a dog flinging off water. “Nicholas explained to me,” his father continued, “how stressed out you’ve been lately, juggling the class as well as your lessons, and how Dmytro is worried you could be risking an injury with your lack of sleep due to studying. I wish you would have shared his concerns with me --you know how I highly I regard Dmytro’s opinion.” Nicholas nodded at Mr. Katayama encouragingly, turning up his smile as high as it could go.

“You always told me that discipline is the most important skill an athlete can have,” said Seiji, sinking onto the footstool next to his dad’s chair. 

Mr. Katayama furrowed his brow, his mouth falling back into its customary stern lines, and Nicholas sat straight up from his perch on the floor. “Having the discipline to know when you need a break is critical,” he said quickly. “A lot of athletes burn out before they reach their full potential.”

“Yes!” cried Mr. Katayama. “Absolutely. I would never want to risk your ambitions, if all that’s needed to preserve them is the occasional stress relief day.” He smiled at Nicholas then, like they were in on this together. It was a small one, creased at the edges like his son’s, and when Seiji saw it he nearly fell off the ottoman. “You should listen to your friend.”

“My friend,” Seiji said faintly, as Nicholas yanked him down the hall, getting him out of earshot before he could say another word.

“Where’s your room?” Nicholas asked, and Seiji snapped out of the daze he was in long enough to point to a door at the very end of the hall.

While Seiji lingered in the doorway, head turned over his shoulder to where his dad sat waiting in the living room, Nicholas barged inside, making a beeline for a wardrobe the size of the bathroom in his apartment.

It was a promising place to search, but there were a lot of drawers, and it was vital to get Seiji away before he did anything else catastrophically stupid. Nicholas began jerking them open, taking armfuls of crisply pressed polos and button-downs and flinging them onto the floor in heaps.

_ How does one human being have three full sized drawers worth of socks? _

There was a stifled scream behind him as Seiji noticed what he was doing. Luckily Nicholas was on the fifth drawer by that point, and after dropping what appeared to be an entire J. Crew outlet’s worth of briefs onto the carpet, he found it: a pair of navy and grey swim trunks, which he brandished in the air like a flag.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are in business!” he declared, flinging an arm around Seiji’s shoulder with cheerful abandon. 

Seiji had stopped screaming, so that was good. “So much is wrong with this situation,” he said, starting forward to pick up the mess, but Nicholas held him back.

“Ooooooh no you don’t.” Nicholas picked up a t shirt and shoved it into Seiji’s arms along with the bathing suit. “We’re leaving. Now.” He put both hands on Seiji’s chest and pushed him backward into the hallway, herding him to the bathroom they passed on their way to Seiji’s room. 

“Change,” Nicholas told him, and shut the door in his wide eyed face. 

After a moment or so, Nicholas heard rustling noises. Hopefully that meant Seiji was: A) putting on his swimsuit, and not B) devising myriad sinister ways to kill Nicholas for invading his house, brainwashing his dad, and trashing his room. 

Speaking of which, Nicholas needed to change too. He headed back in, closing Seiji’s door and shucking off his uniform. He crammed it in his duffle and put on his old board shorts and a black t-shirt, walking reluctantly over to the wardrobe. He had meant to put some of the clothing up too, for the sake of Seiji’s blood pressure if nothing else. 

But then he got a good look around.

Seiji’s half of the dorm at Castello was, in a word, barren. Everything was neat, in its place, and completely sterile. Nicholas had expected his room at home to be the same blank void.

Seiji’s room was as painfully organized as their dorm, but here and there Nicholas noticed signs of life. Taped on the inside of the wardrobe was a poster from when they had snuck out of the dorms last spring to see that indie band. Seiji had griped incessantly during the concert, and Nicholas had gotten him the Lord Huron poster as a joke. 

He never thought Seiji would use it. 

In the far corner of the room sat a meticulously arranged desk with Seiji’s fencing journal set in the exact middle. Nicholas was sorely tempted to mess with it, but, remembering the dire consequences from the last time (his night light would never be the same), he gave it a safe berth. The lamp on the desk had Seiji’s first place National medals draped around it, no shock there, but it also had the fifth place medal the Kings Row team had won at State. Nicholas weighed the metal in his palm, absently biting the edge of his thumbnail.

“High school competition doesn’t affect national points or rankings,” Seiji said, after Nicholas congratulated him on making the team. Nicholas had taken away the unspoken assumption that the team’s standing was meaningless to him. 

Not anymore, apparently. 

When Nicholas glanced past the desk, he noticed Seiji’s phone sat charging on his bedside table, next to a silver frame. Nicholas picked it up, and when he saw the photograph inside, he hastily put the frame back down even though he knew Seiji was still in the bathroom changing.

It wasn’t a dirty picture, or anything like that.

Nicholas recognized it immediately. Aiden had taken the photo during Visitation Weekend, when Bobby brought over Bailey, his abuela’s new golden retriever. The team took turns playing with him, and somehow the puppy, Seiji, and Nicholas wound up on Seiji’s bed. In the picture Nicholas sprawled across the mattress, Bailey held wriggling above him, while Seiji looming over them disapprovingly, index finger upraised, telling him off with his usual vigor. Hidden from Nicholas because of the angle, however, had been the corner of Seiji’s mouth, creased up into his subtle smile. 

There was the cringe inducing fact that Nicholas may or may not have been looking up at Seiji with marginally less devotion than the puppy, but other than that, it was a great picture.

Nicholas had it saved on his phone, after bribing Aiden with an entire box of cupcakes to text him the original. Meanwhile, Seiji spent the rest of the weekend denying his unmistakable affection for Bailey despite the clear cut evidence.

And yet, there the picture sat, the first thing Seiji would see in the morning when he turned off his alarm.

Nicholas didn’t quite know what to make of it. But he did know one thing. 

Seiji wouldn’t have wanted him to see it.

Nicholas hightailed it out of there, waiting for Seiji in the relative safety of the hall, where the only pictures were harmless ones of Seiji and his father in front of various beautiful vistas, or of a smaller, shorter Seiji wearing a medal and his fencing whites and a tiny, adorable blush. As soon as the bathroom door opened, Nicholas ambushed Seiji, strongarming him out of the house and into his silver Porsche before he could say anything else to convince his father they shouldn’t go. 

“Have a good time,” Mr. Katayama called from under his newspaper as they hurried by. Seiji stopped dead in his tracks at that, and Nicholas had to practically manhandle him out the door.

Before they drove off, Seiji insisted on getting some stuff out of the garage and moving it to the trunk. After a brief argument over an obscenely big beach tent which was no doubt hellishly difficult if not impossible to put together, Nicholas managed to restrict him to two folding chairs, a cooler, and an umbrella. 

As soon as they got in the car, Seiji twisted open a water bottle, taking a long sip. “This is crazy,” he said, rolling his shoulders till they cracked and leaning back into the seat. “You came all this way on a gamble. What if my dad said no? I have no idea what you were thinking, or if you were thinking, period.” He took another sip, tilting back onto the leather headrest.

“I was thinking Ocean Park,” Nicholas lied, watching with glee as Seiji sat up gagging, spitting out his water with a series of coughs.

“On a Saturday?!” Seiji said when he could speak, and Nicholas couldn’t contain himself anymore and full on giggled while Seiji glared, unamused.

“Well, I know you’ll be disappointed, since you love crowds, but I was planning on West Haven.”

“I’ve never been there,” Seiji said.

“It’s kind of off the grid,” admitted Nicholas, and he didn’t miss the relief that slipped across Seiji’s face. “But we do have one stop to make before we head over.”

“I still think you’re crazy,” Seiji muttered, but he started the car anyway, and Nicholas glanced out the window to hide his smile.

At the convenience store he told Seiji to wait for him. “It won’t take long,” he said. _Not to mention you’ll blow my cover sky high. _

He had his fake at the ready, but the college student at the counter didn’t even ask for it, too busy messing with his phone to care. When Seiji saw the six-pack he full on squawked, which sent Nicholas into a frenzy of cackling.

As soon as Seiji was able to speak, he started on a tirade. “Underage drinking--” 

“We won’t get caught.”

“--my father would kill me if--”

“_We won’t get caught_. The guys they bust for that are the ones being loud and rude. Come to think of it, you’ve got rude pretty well down. Maybe I should be worried...” 

Seiji glared at him even harder. “This is serious.”

“I am serious. You’ve never had a drink before, have you?” Nicholas asked. When Seiji’s eyes darted to the side, his forehead wrinkling just like his father’s, Nicholas knew he was right. 

Nicholas set the six-pack in the backseat, and turned, grabbing Seiji by the shoulder. “If they pick us up, I’ll take the fall,” he said. “But they won’t.” He gave Seiji what Bobby had reliably informed him were his best puppy dog eyes. “And it’ll be fun. Promise.”

Seiji frowned, switching on the ignition, and when he shifted the car into drive, Nicholas knew he had won. “You won’t regret this,” Nicholas said. 

“You’d better be right,” said Seiji, shifting gears and pulling out of the parking spot in one smooth movement. 

The Porsche drove like a dream, and it wasn’t long before Seiji was guiding the silver car into a parking lot alongside a deserted strip of sand and sea.

Nicholas hopped out as soon as the car stopped, scouting out the best spot while Seiji poked around in the trunk.

Nicholas had staked out a site, laid out the towels, and set up the umbrella by the time Seiji came down, dragging the two chairs, the cooler, and his bag, and wearing a mulish expression.

“You could have waited for me,” he said, drawing himself up the full inch he had on Nicholas, his eyebrows pinched down over his nose.

Nicholas blinked at him, utterly unimpressed. “And you,” he said, prodding Seiji’s chest with his finger, “could have not brought along half a storage unit’s worth of shit.” He grabbed one of the chairs before Seiji could protest, shook it out, and took a seat, leaning back to study Seiji from upside down. “Luckily you’ve got me around to remind you when you’re being a dumbass.”

“How fortunate,” said Seiji, his face torn between annoyance and amusement, a common occurrence when dealing with Nicholas was concerned. He got out his own chair, putting it next to Nicholas, and took his shirt off, bending over and hunting around in the duffel. “You did bring sunscreen, didn’t you?” 

Seiji’s build was so slender that Nicholas sometimes forgot the elegant line of muscle that lay hidden underneath his neat button ups and blazers. While he picked through the bag, his lats flexed, defining his shoulder blades, whose golden edges pointed like wings down the long length of his back to his waist. “Nicholas?”

“It’s in the side pocket,” Nicholas said, yanking off his own shirt with considerably less finesse.

Seiji was using the spray sunscreen, but Nicholas made a face and grabbed lotion out of his bag. “Get my back for me,” he said, tossing Seiji the bottle. 

Seiji had the nicest hands, calloused but gentle, and they glided down his shoulders and his sides, pressing along the curve of his spine, and Nicholas got light-headed for a second, leaning back too far into him, off balance. “Are you okay?” Seiji asked, hands resting on the edge of his hips, and it felt like Nicholas’ heartbeat was centered there, teetering on that place where they touched. 

“I’m fine,” he said reluctantly, and Seiji stepped back, attempting to hand off the lotion. 

“I don’t think that’s enough.” 

“Nice that you trust me,” Seiji grumbled, but Nicholas was under his hands again, and they were much kinder than his voice, skimming down Nicholas’ ribcage careful and slow, and Nicholas took a deep breath as he began to feel dizzy again.

When he was done, Nicholas gave a massive stretch, popping what felt like every vertebrae in his back. He turned to Seiji, and the bridge of his nose was pink, even though they had just gotten to the beach. “Speaking of applying, you might want to put some more on your face.”

Seiji scrubbed his fingers over his cheeks with a scowl. “It’s fine.” 

“Suit yourself.” Nicholas shrugged. “Come on, it’s hot as hell out here, let’s go in!”

They had arrived at the midpoint between low tide and high tide, when the surf was at its best. The water was shallow for a ways offshore, with a drop off marked by the churning foam that signaled where the beach break began. A pair of waves rolled in, drawing up beautifully, and Nicholas began jogging into the water, unable to stop himself.

“Have you ever body surfed?” he yelled over his shoulder at Seiji, diving in before he could respond. When he surfaced, shaking the droplets off with a grin, Seiji was watched him, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, his hair falling across his forehead.

“No,” he said, his mouth turned up at the corners in what could nearly be termed a smile. “But I’m sure you’ll be happy to tell me all about it.”

An hour later Nicholas had a giant scrape along his knee, they were both winded and soaked, and—unsurprising, yet infuriating nonetheless— Seiji had become a better body surfer than Nicholas.

There was a lull in the waves, and they stood on a sandbar, the tide lapping against their chests, watching the horizon. Seiji scooped up a handful of water, letting it slip through his fingers back into the sea as he examined it with unexpectedly intensity. “There’s an international juniors competition in Paris this year.”

This didn’t seem to require a response, so Nicholas didn’t give one, besides a brief squeak as he brushed his feet against god knows what on the bottom for the third time in a row. Whatever it was, it was something spiky and hard, and he flipped until he was floating on his back, staring up at the blue, cloudless sky.

“It lines up with our spring break,” said Seiji.

_ Paris in the springtime… that would be amazing _. “Are you going to go?” 

“Yes.” There was a splash and Nicholas saw him flip onto his back out of the corner of his eye. “Since you qualified for Summer Nationals, you’re automatically qualified, too.”

Nicholas laughed, flopping face first into the sea and getting water up his nose. “Yeah, Seiji,” he said, after he finished hacking. “There’s just the little problem of getting there, is all. And where would I stay?”

“You could stay with me.” Seiji floated on, his eyes on the clouds. “My father can’t come, and we’d have the suite to ourselves.”

“I would still need to buy a plane ticket,” Nicholas said. 

“My father might have points on his credit card--”

“No,” said Nicholas abruptly. “I could never ask your dad to do that.”

“You wouldn’t be asking him. I would. And he never uses them, anyway.”

“Seiji, I appreciate the offer,” Nicholas said. “But I can’t.”

Before Seiji could pursue another line of attack, Nicholas dove, searching along the bottom for whatever had been poking his feet earlier.

“Look,” Nicholas said, hefting a whelk in his hands. “The snail left it for you.”

“The snail didn’t leave it for anyone.” Seiji was still watching the clouds. “It’s dead.”

“Oh my god,” said Nicholas, dropping it back into the ocean. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. They need it to survive.” Seiji came out of his float with an easy grace to stand once more. “The shell protects them. It’s their refuge.”

“What if he didn’t need it anymore,” Nicholas said, sloshing over to Seiji’s side, until he was close enough to see the flecks of sunscreen on the tips of his ears. “What if he found something better?” 

“Not everything has a happy ending, Nicholas.” Seiji gazed out to sea, his profile stark against the horizon, handsome and untouchable. 

“True,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “Like now.” 

And he tackled Seiji from behind, sending them both sailing into the water with an almighty splash. 

Nicholas came up first, and Seiji came up after, sputtering, hooking an arm around Nicholas and dragging him back down, and they went back and forth for a while, until they were both panting and Nicholas began to feel the first itch of sunburn.

_ Why are we even arguing about this? _

“We should reapply,” Nicholas said. He felt around the bottom again, bringing up the whelk and shoving it into Seiji’s hands. “Here, take it.”

As they walked back to shore, Seiji studied the shell, running his fingers over the honey colored spires. “I wasn’t trying to be contrary,” he said.

“Coulda fooled me,” said Nicholas, giving him a friendly hip check from behind, which Seiji completely ignored.

“The world is cruel,” said Seiji. “You have to take measures to protect yourself. That’s all I meant.”

“He wouldn’t need protection from me,” Nicholas said, lifting his chin up to stare Seiji straight in the eyes.

“Yes, but that doesn’t…” Seiji’s gaze slid down, watching his fingers trail over the shell. “Most people would— but you aren’t…” He drew in a breath and then let it out in a whoosh. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said, the words coming out in a painful rush, like pulling out a thorn, and then Seiji flinched, his shoulders drawn up by his ears, as if he was bracing for Nicholas to make another tackle.

Nicholas swallowed, rubbing his hand over the place where his undercut met his neck. Seiji was the best fencer Nicholas had ever seen, but, more importantly, he was steadfast and determined and terribly honorable, too good to be true; a study in contradictions, that was his best friend. Up close it was obvious that the frost coating his heart, the brittle silver that everyone noticed at first glance, was passion, burning white-hot incandescent, only no one took the time to see it. He should never be scared like this, never make himself small like this, and Nicholas’ fingers flexed, but Seiji didn’t like hugs, and Nicholas wanted to do more than hug him, he wanted to take his best friend in his arms and — but Seiji didn’t want — Nicholas winced, _ that_. 

Not from someone like Nicholas. 

Definitely time for the beer. He opened the cooler and snagged two bottles, popping them open and handing Seiji one. 

Seiji regarded the _ Tecate _ with the same expression he gave Nicholas when he caught him eating cookies in bed; a sort of perplexed dismay. 

He wasn’t curled in on himself anymore, though, like he was hiding, like he was afraid (and what could Seiji Katayama possibly be afraid of?), and that was the important thing.

“I got lime juice and salt,” said Nicholas. “Here.” He handed Seiji the green bottle and put the salt shaker on the towel between them.

Seiji looked from the lime shaped plastic, to the glass Tecate bottle, to the salt, and then up at Nicholas balefully. 

Nicholas laughed, grabbing the bottles. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. 

Seiji liked the beer, to his own utmost shock, and they shit talked Exton for half the afternoon while he put three away and then promptly passed out on his towel. He wasn’t under the umbrella, so Nicholas dragged it over, making sure most of him was in the shade. 

While he was sleeping, Seiji’s mouth eased out of its perpetually state of tension, leaving his face solemn, but peaceful. It was easy to see why Bobby had been obsessed with him. When he wasn’t busy being intimidating or sullen or fussy, Seiji Katayama was awfully good-looking.

Nicholas blushed, pulling his baseball cap down low over his head and grabbing his dog-eared copy of _ Catch-22_. There wasn’t any reason to be embarrassed. 

Anyone would think Seiji was hot, even if he was their best friend.

Nicholas had gotten to the chapter with Orr and the crab apples when he realized the light had started to fade. 

“Wake up,” said Nicholas, shaking Seiji’s shoulder. “You’re gonna miss the sunset.”

Seiji made a groaning noise and sat up, running a hand through his rumpled hair.

Nicholas cocked his head, thinking out loud. “Once it gets dark, we should start heading to the boardwalk. It’s only about 30 minutes from here and the parking is free on the weekend, and that means no meters.”

“The boardwalk?” Seiji rubbed his eyes, lacing his fingers together and stretching them out in front of him.

Nicholas shrugged. “I thought it would be crowded in the afternoon, or I would have had us go earlier.” 

“You planned this out?” Seiji said, both eyebrows raised to a frankly insulting degree.

“Yes.” Nicholas made a face. “I’m not totally incompetent, you know.”

“I’d never suspect, given your grades last quarter, that you’d be capable of any planning whatsoever,” Seiji said.

Nicholas rolled his eyes. Seiji was completely unbearable sometimes. “School,” Nicholas said, contemptuously. “I don’t care about school.”

“Oh,” said Seiji. Something sounded off in his voice, but his mouth was set in its usual indifferent line. 

_ Weirdo_.

His mouth might be under control, but his hair wasn’t. His raven cowlicks had gotten raked up to the point that he bore a passing resemblance to a porcupine, and he had given Nicholas that half smile earlier, and it could be the sunset, or the way everything had worked out brilliantly, even though he had done it by the seat of his pants, but Nicholas was feeling unstoppable. 

Only one thing could make it better— getting under Seiji’s skin, making his eyes flash, drawing out the fire he kept locked inside, hidden from everyone but Nicholas. The problem was, if Nicholas said what he was thinking about saying, it was going to give Seiji even more of an ego than he already had.

_ Fuck it_. It was his birthday, and Seiji was legally allowed to be a bit of a dick.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You think you have everyone all figured out, don’t you? You think you know everything,” Nicholas announced, waiting for the irritation to whip across Seiji’s face.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“I know a hell of a lot more than you,” Seiji said, stepping right into Nicholas’ feint. 

“Is that so?” Nicholas asked slyly. “I still remember what you said the first time we met. Do you?”

Seiji’s shoulders dropped, along with his chin, but he didn’t say anything as his fingers toyed with the label on his half empty bottle. 

That wasn’t the reaction Nicholas had expected. 

Seiji was supposed to say something scathing now, about Nicholas’ horrific technique or his not being able to strategize for shit. Instead, the silence stretched on, Seiji’s shoulders drooping more with each passing moment. 

“You told me,” Nicholas continued stubbornly, determined to see the thing through now that he had started it, “that I was so far out of your league, you were surprised I could see you at all.”

Seiji’s eyebrows lowered, and a little crinkle appeared over his nose.

_ This isn’t right. He’s supposed to tease me now, not— _

"I was wrong,” Seiji said in a low voice, eyes still downcast. “I--”

Nicholas grinned, leaning towards Seiji and seizing the opening eagerly. “Yes,” he said triumphantly. “You were.” He grabbed the side of Seiji’s beer, weaving his fingers through Seiji’s and stopping their fidgeting, and Seiji’s gaze caught on his, the wrinkle furrowing deeper. “Like I could ever ignore you. When you fence, it’s like there’s no one else even in the room.”

Seiji stared at him, the breeze from the shore playing with his hair, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open, sunburn beginning to color his cheeks. Under Nicholas’ hand, his fingers twitched once, and then relaxed.

He wasn’t upset anymore, but now it seemed… awkward? Nicholas had thought Seiji would puff up under the compliment. 

_ Oh well_. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his jokes had fallen flat.

“Nice to see even you know when you’re beat,” Nicholas said, giving Seiji’s fingers a parting squeeze before picking up his own beer. He smiled at Seiji, whose sunburn had somehow managed to turn even pinker. Time to change the subject. “Wanna go on the Ferris wheel after?” 

Seiji mumbled what sounded like a yes, his eyes flicking down again as he resumed picking at the label.

Nicholas took a swig of beer and faced the sunset, deliberately giving Seiji room to recover his composure. When he had gotten done with a rant about whether _ Event Horizon _ was an accurate depiction of getting caught in a black hole, during which Seiji made not a single contribution (which, granted, was very much in character), he turned back around to check on him. 

“Ha!” Nicholas crowed, poking the tip of Seiji’s nose, which had turned the same dusky red that saturated his face, from his cheekbones to the mole underneath his dark, serious eyes. “I told you that you should reapply!”

Seiji rubbed his fingers across his face, his lashes catching the sunset, flashing gold as he closed his eyes. “It’s not that bad,” he said.

“You’re making it worse.” Nicholas fished out the aloe from his bag and squirted some into his palms. “Here, let me.”

He tugged Seiji’s hand away from his face, and Seiji’s eyes flicked open in alarm. “What are you—” 

When Nicholas pressed a cool palm to his cheek, Seiji’s mouth snapped shut. His skin was hot under Nicholas’ hand, and Nicholas made sure to be extra tender when he spread the aloe, slow and deliberate.

Nicholas’ own skin was flushed and feverish, even though he had reapplied, so Seiji must feel terrible. Even with all his care, when Nicholas traced his fingers over Seiji’s soft, warm skin, Seiji gave a tiny gasp, his tongue wetting his lips before his teeth sank into the bottom one. 

His eyes were deep black and huge and fixed on Nicholas as if magnetized, and the sun had been extra bright today, and Nicholas shouldn’t have had that last _ Tecate_. 

That must be why his fingertips on Seiji felt electrified, why when Seiji moved underneath his touch Nicholas felt the precise play of muscles shifting, adjusting, falling into place as if they belonged there, right there, in the palm of his hand. 

As if Seiji belonged there, too. 

Nicholas placed his right hand on the edge of Seiji’s jaw, turning him to get the other side of his face. Rapid puffs of breath tickled his palm when his hand drifted over Seiji’s nose and then his other cheek. 

“Don’t worry,” Nicholas said. “I’m almost done.”

Seiji didn’t say anything. He was still staring at him steadily, silently, still taking those shallow breaths, and Nicholas flinched at the look in his eyes. He had never seen Seiji’s pupils this big before. It must ache something awful. 

“I’m sorry I’m hurting you,” Nicholas said, licked his lips. Seiji’s chin dropped down as he tracked the motion, and it seemed to take a great effort for him to force it up again.

“You aren’t hurting me,” he said hoarsely, leaning forward into Nicholas’ touch, and the press of his skin on Nicholas’ palm ran down his arm and into his chest like voltage down a circuit.

“Do you think I should put on another layer? It’s pretty bad.”

Seiji’s eyes closed, and his hand came up to Nicholas’, pressing it against his face for a second before moving it away.

“I’m fine,” he said, turning around and facing the sunset again. 

Nicholas took a deep breath, holding it in. The beach smelled amazing, salty and clean and remarkably familiar. It had taken him way too long to realize why that was the case; it turned out that Seiji, especially fresh off a hard fought bout, smelled like the ocean. 

It was unexpectedly soothing.

They watched as the gold dwindled into red, purple, and indigo, while the waves moved back and forth, and the tide crept in. 

To his surprise, Seiji broke the silence first. “What ever happened to that girl you liked, Julia? Did you go on any more dates?”

Nicholas blinked, and then blinked again. “Huh?”

“You went to the movies with her right before break,” Seiji said, ripping the beer label into tiny pieces. “She threw a soda at your head after you accidentally dropped her phone in the toilet. You don’t remember?”

“What the hell, Seiji? Why are you bringing this up? Didn’t you give me an hour lecture on the pointlessness of dating before college, specifically given my, and I quote, ‘lamentable lack of maturity’?” 

Seiji put his face in his hands then, giving a strangled laugh. “I did, didn’t I,” he said. “I should take my own advice.”

Nicholas rubbed his forehead with the side of the beer bottle, squinting at the label. “But you do,” he said. “You don’t date.”

“Never mind,” said Seiji, gazing out over the waves, where the moon had begun to rise. “I think the sunburn is making me disoriented.”

“I’m going to get you some water, you’re definitely dehydrated,” Nicholas said. “And then we can go to the boardwalk. I can’t believe you’ve never been on a Ferris wheel before, you’re going to love it.”

“You hate heights,” said Seiji.

“Well, yes,” said Nicholas, “but this is different. This is the fair. There are funnel cakes and candy apples and you’re supposed to eat Day-Glo nacho cheese till you explode, and then puke in a ride that may or may not fall apart at any given second. It’s not meant to be safe.” He paused for extra emphasis. “It’s an _ experience_.”

“Hooray,” said Seiji, in that odd, flat way he had, his face completely devoid of expression. “I can hardly wait.”

Nicholas grinned like an idiot then, and the edge of Seiji’s mouth curved up in his half smile, and whatever weird tension there had been from before evaporated, and everything was back to normal.

The rest of the night was flawless. Nicholas would never forget Seiji’s face when Nicholas absolutely wrecked him at the bumper cars, they each ate approximately a metric ton of comprehensively terrible neon colored food, and no one got a soda thrown at their head. 

Seiji hadn’t even made fun of him for getting freaked out on the Ferris wheel. Their gondola had stopped at the top, and the wind was blowing and it was swaying and creaking and suddenly Nicholas was picturing how it would feel to slip over the edge, the moment of sheer weightlessness and then the impact on the concrete below.

“Hey Seiji?” Nicholas closed his eyes, hands gripping the edge of the plastic seat, and prayed that Seiji couldn’t see how they trembled. “These things are safe, aren’t they? I mean, little kids go on them, right?”

There was a brief silence.

One second his heart was in free fall, and then the next he was pressed from his shoulder to his hip against Seiji’s chest, Seiji’s arm around him, covering Nicholas’ fingers with his own slender ones, and his hands were full on shaking again, and there was no way Seiji couldn’t have noticed. 

Seiji didn’t tease him. Seiji pulled him closer, tucking Nicholas’ head under his chin. “It won’t be long till we get down,” he said. “I won’t let you fall.”

Up close, Seiji smelled like sunscreen and the sea, and Nicholas could feel his heartbeat where his face rested against Seiji’s neck, skin to skin, and his cheeks stung like he’d been slapped, hard, and left half reeling from the shock of it. The ride started again with a jolt, restarting his heart in the same moment, and Nicholas took a deep breath and held it, trying to get his racing pulse under control. 

He didn’t open his eyes until it was time to get off. Seiji’s arm pressed against him, hugging him against his chest one last time before Seiji got up and let him go. 

As they got off, Seiji glanced at him over his shoulder, working his bottom lip with his teeth.

It gave Nicholas a spike of recognition when he saw it: it was the same way Seiji had studied him when they first met, when he had become obsessed with Nicholas’ eerie similarities with Jesse. 

As if there was a mystery about Nicholas he just couldn’t figure out, and it would drive him mad until he did. 

Nicholas’ cheeks throbbed, raw and aching, and he stood silently, arms drawn across his chest, too shook up to say anything, until Seiji’s hand took his elbow.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and the squeeze he gave Nicholas’ arm when he said it made Nicholas blush even harder. “OK,” said Nicholas, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

The drive home was a quiet one, as they were both exhausted. They had meant to watch Alien, but Nicholas accidentally conked out in Seiji’s bed halfway through, which was just as well, since he had to leave the next morning disgustingly early to catch the bus. Seiji had offered to take him home, but when Nicholas thought of Seiji’s Porsche pulling up to his shitty apartment complex, it was easy to turn him down.

“Happy birthday,” said Nicholas, half asleep with his duffle on his shoulder. He smiled up at Seiji in the doorway. “See you at Nationals.”

“Thanks for coming, Nicholas,” Seiji said, one arm leaning against the door frame, his eyes dark and unreadable. When he looked down at Nicholas this time it wasn’t with arrogance or annoyance, but something else altogether, and Nicholas tripped in his haste to get on the bike before the blush came back again.

When he came back to stay at Seiji’s for Nationals, neither of them mentioned his birthday. Seiji’s phone sat alone on his bedside table, the silver-framed picture nowhere to be found.

But when Nicholas tossed his bag on the bed, he saw it. 

Sitting on top of the black journal, strange and out of place among the vast haul of medals on his desk, lay the seashell Nicholas had given him.

**********************

If someone told him a year ago that he’d be deep dicked on a routine basis by his nemesis-come-BFF-come-whatever-the-hell-they-are-now, Nicholas would have laughed in their face.

Looks like the joke’s on him though, because more often than not, Nicholas is sleeping in Seiji’s bed now, and that’s more dangerous than it might seem, for any number of reasons.

This morning was a case in point.

Nicholas had woken up late. Again. The alarm screamed in his ear, some ungodly cheerful pop song Bobby picked out, and he had gone to bed it felt like maaaaaybe five minutes ago. 

He hugged his pillow closer, not letting it squirm away, and stuck a hand out of the covers, groping around blindly around on top of the dresser. His hand ran into something smooth and sleek, and he knocked it off with a thud, but Nicholas kept at it until he felt slick metal under his fingers, and as soon as he did, he chucked the phone clear across the room.

The alarm was still inexplicably blaring when his pillow snarled, swatting him in the head. 

“Wha?” Nicholas mumbled, nuzzling into warmth. “Too early, dun care.”

“That was _ my _ phone, idiot,” Seiji growled from entirely too close for comfort. His palm slapped the dresser and the alarm finally, mercifully, stopped. “If you cracked the screen again, you’re sleeping in your own bed tonight. And you threw my journal on the floor.” He bit the tip of Nicholas’ ear in punishment, and Nicholas yelped, but Seiji curled around Nicholas then, hand sliding back into his hair, and Nicholas settled back into his arms. Those old school pyjamas he wore were silly, but they were also extremely cozy. 

“‘S’your fault,” Nicholas said into Seiji’s chest.

It was, too.

Seiji had made out with him last night for hours, after yet another lecture on “the shamefully cavalier attitude you take with your health” devolved into an impromptu wrestling match. 

“Do you always have to talk like you ate a thesaurus?” Nicholas had said, sinking his elbow into Seiji’s ribs. 

Seiji grunted, before slotting his own elbow into Nicholas’ side to return the favor, and they rolled around until Seiji managed to get the upper hand, pinning Nicholas’ shoulders to the sheets. 

“Do you _ ever _ shut up,” he said, unyielding above him, black eyes burning into Nicholas’. 

Nicholas glared right back, gnawing the inside of his mouth as he fought to control what had become an almost Pavlovian response to Seiji being a prick: namely, getting horny as fuck. Horny enough to forget why letting Seiji have his way with him at every opportunity probably wasn’t the best way to keep it casual and meaningless. 

“Make me,” Nicholas said, thrusting his chin up and trying to contain the blush that threatened to cover his cheeks.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Seiji crouched over him with an arrogant smirk that sank deep into his belly. “Me to put you in your place?” 

“Control freak,” Nicholas said, shoving him away, only to find himself on his back again and pinned at the wrists, wriggling and half hard underneath Seiji’s slim, powerful hips.

“You like it,” Seiji said, taunted, pressing his hips down further, and Nicholas clenched his jaw to muffle a whine. 

Seiji wasn’t wrong.

After that it was game over, another marathon torture session consisting of Seiji’s tongue sliding hot and slick inside Nicholas’ too yielding mouth, while he plied searing fingers along the inside of Nicholas’ thighs, like he was a sword to be worked as Seiji saw fit. 

It ended when his legs were shaking like he had run a million suicides, with a flurry of slurred begging and a muffled squeak on Nicholas’ part, the heel of Seiji’s hand pressed against his dick like a brand while he came pinned underneath him. Seiji clenched around him then, sinking his canines into Nicholas’ shoulder and shaking as he spilled onto his stomach, hissing mangled French into his sweaty skin. 

Seiji always waited until Nicholas finished before he let himself come. 

It made Nicholas giddy, and a little flushed, when he first realized it, but after he thought about it some more, he figured it was another manifestation of Seiji’s endless quest for perfection.

Nicholas tried not to notice, after that.

It was important to remember what was happening here, and not make it into something it wasn’t.

Guys like Seiji Katayama didn’t date guys like Nicholas Cox.

Sure, they’d fuck him. Hang out with him, have some fun. And it was convenient, Nicholas was definitely convenient, easygoing and easy to get into bed, and since he and Seiji were roommates, it made even more sense for them to hook up.

But Seiji spoke French. Seiji spoke fluent French, in a flawless accent he had picked up studying abroad in Paris, and he had his own personal fencing coach who looked like a KGB reject, and he’d never taken the bus anywhere in his whole life.

Until this year, Nicholas hadn’t ever flown on a plane. 

He hadn’t even been outside of Connecticut. 

And Nicholas would never forget how red Seiji got the time Aiden brought up his crush on Jesse. 

Nicholas wasn’t an idiot. Real life wasn’t like fencing. He couldn’t practice his way into Seiji’s heart, any more than he could win his father over by rising in the national rankings. Thinking about his last conversation with Robert Coste made him break out in a cold sweat even now, months later. 

The way the story goes, Jesse’s the kind of boy Seiji ends up with. Not him.

So Nicholas did what he was good at—he enjoyed what he was given, he took it to the absolute limit, no holds barred, and he didn’t think about how he would deal when the inevitable happened: when Seiji Katayama found someone in his own league at last, and left Nicholas Cox, with his Goodwill sneakers and his cut-rate life, far behind.

  
  


***********************************************

It was honestly a good thing he wasn’t dating Seiji, anyway. No doubt that’s why whatever it was between them was working out that well in the first place. 

Nicholas had never been any good at relationships. When he had seen his ex at the Target and worn his Red Sox cap pulled down over his head the rest of the shopping trip, glancing over his shoulder every five seconds, Bobby had thought he was overreacting.

Then Seiji told him about what happened with Alex at the tournament, and Bobby spent the next month apologizing to the point of absurdity, which meant a handmade scarf and mitten set for Nicholas and Seiji, not that Nicholas was complaining.

Even at Kings’ Row, his luck had been shit. The last date Nicholas had been on was a complete disaster, so much so that he had largely managed to block it out from his memory.

It was funny, actually: when he thought back to that night, what stuck in his mind best wasn’t even the date at all.

When, by some mysterious act of God, a hot girl at one of the meets had struck up a conversation with Nicholas and asked him out, Bobby had taken it as a green light for the makeover he had been itching to do since the start of freshman year. He had bullied Nicholas into changing into some fancy purple shirt (“It’s a henley, Nicholas! It’s like a more fun t-shirt, I promise!”) and dark blue jeans. 

To Bobby’s credit, it actually was kind of cool. Too bad Julia’s Triple Gulp had ruined shirt and pants in one fell swoop. But that didn’t happen until a good deal later on in the evening.

The sun was thinking about setting when Seiji came back from the library, and Bobby was busy putting the finishing touches on Nicholas’ eyeliner. 

“Ow, Christ, Bobby! I’m sure it’s fine,” Nicholas said, wincing as Bobby wielded the tube like a tiny sword, his face uncharacteristically grave. 

“One more swipe,” he said, flaring his nostrils and coming closer, and Nicholas steeled himself, closing his eyes in surrender. Bobby on a mission was a weird combination of cute and straight up terrifying.

When Bobby finished, Nicholas glanced up to find Seiji staring at him from the doorway. As soon as their eyes met, he looked away. 

“You’re done with Study Hall?” Nicholas asked. He had been hoping to avoid Seiji before the date — he was nervous as is, and Seiji was sure to have something barbed to say.

“I finished early.” Seiji frowned down at his bookbag. “What are you--”

“Nicholas has his date tonight!” Bobby said, clapping his hands together in excitement. “I had to get him ready — what do you think?” He beamed at Seiji cluelessly, as if he hadn’t just offered him the opportunity to roast Nicholas on a silver platter.

Nicholas braced himself.

“It’s…” Seiji’s eyes darted over to him and away again. He took off his jacket, placing it meticulously on the hanger. “An improvement,” he said to the back of the closet.

Nicholas itched the edge of his eyelid, waiting, but Seiji didn’t elaborate.

“See?” Bobby nudged Nicholas with his elbow. “Even Seiji thinks you look good.”

Nicholas shot a look over at Seiji, who had sat down at his desk, his back to them. “That isn’t what he said, Bobby.”

“Don’t you know by now, Nicholas,” said Bobby, twisting the cap onto the eyeliner with an authoritative click, “with Seiji, it’s not what he says, it’s what he doesn’t say.” He held Nicholas by the shoulders, surveying his handiwork with pride, and then gave Nicholas a hug.

“She won’t know what to do with herself. You look very handsome! Dante’s taking me out tonight, so I gotta go, but good luck!” 

“Thanks, Bobby,” Nicholas mumbled as Bobby let himself out, rubbing the back of his neck and waiting for Seiji to chime in about his handsomeness, or lack thereof, but there was nothing but silence from his side of the room.

It was only when Nicholas was grabbing his keys and his wallet, clearly getting ready to go, that Seiji spoke up, and it wasn’t to give the insult Nicholas had half expected.

“She asked you out?” Seiji had said, as a funny little crinkle appeared over his nose. His tone wasn’t disbelieving, or cruel. It was… careful, restrained, and if Nicholas didn’t know better, he’d think Seiji was nervous. “I thought you asked her.”

“Yeah.” Nicholas jiggled his keys in his hand, inexplicably agitated; he must be picking up on whatever was bothering Seiji. “Kind of crazy, it came out of left field, and I wasn’t expecting it.” He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends and no doubt wrecking Bobby’s painstaking styling. “I mean, if I’m being straight with you, I’ve never asked anyone out. They always have to ask me. I’m kind of oblivious, you know?”

“I’ve noticed,” said Seiji. He had gotten out a textbook and highlighter and was squeakily outlining some paragraph in yellow. 

_ Isn’t that test like a month from now? _

“What about you?” Nicholas said, as he checked his reflection in the mirror, trying to make his hair seem less obnoxiously preppy, but also not a complete loss.

“What about me?” The squeaking paused.

“Have you ever asked anyone out?”

In the mirror Nicholas could see Seiji at his desk. He had put the highlighter down, his back gone ramrod straight. 

Nicholas laughed as he realized what was wrong. “Oh, sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t — I mean, of course _ you _ haven’t.”

When he turned around, Seiji had his nose buried in his book, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that Nicholas didn’t like. _Fuck, I forgot he’s shy about this shit_.

“It’s OK,” Nicholas said. He tried to pull the study guide from Seiji, who held it to his face like a shield. His grip was like iron, and Nicholas gave up trying to pry it away and whispered the next part to the spine: “I won’t tell anyone your secret, _ heartbreaker_.” 

_ Selections from Latin Literature _hit the desk with a thump.

“_What?_” Seiji had gone stock-still, studying Nicholas’ face with the same intensity he gave his rivals on the strip.

“Keep playing dumb.” Nicholas set his elbows on Seiji’s book, resting his head on his hands and smiling up at him. “I’ve got your number. Like you’d ever trade valuable practice time for some boy. Those poor bastards you turn down, I bet it goes something like — ‘Oh, am I supposed to be impressed by these flowers? You say you fence- are you even ranked? I’ve never heard of you. There are four years till the Olympic Trials, and one thing I don’t have time for is bullshit. Hard pass.’”

Seiji was staring down at the book again, and the skin across the bridge of his nose had gone a bright, brilliant pink. Nicholas couldn’t contain his smirk if he tried. Knew it. “It’s fine, Seiji, I know you don’t make them cry on purpose.”

“The trials are in three years, not four,” Seiji muttered. The pink had surged, spreading down his cheeks.

“I rest my case,” Nicholas said smugly. “Try not to crush anyone’s dreams while I’m gone.”

He headed off to his doom then, to a night that would end with him alone in a movie theater with cherry Pepsi drying on his head, and Seiji’s incoherent yell followed him even after he closed the door. 

***********************************************

After the phone throwing episode, they both went back to sleep, no alarms set, and ended up late to first period, no breakfast, Seiji stomping off in a snit to Geometry without even saying goodbye.

Seiji had been in a comprehensively horrible mood the entire weekend, make-out session notwithstanding. He’d rather suffer in stoic silence than come clean as to why, but Nicholas knew the entire thing had started when he had ignored Seiji’s advice about his headache during Friday practice and point blank refused to go to the nurse. 

Since the shitshow that had been the Eastern Division Fall Tournament, Seiji lost it if Nicholas got so much as a side stitch in his presence. Last week he'd downloaded the WebMD app on his phone, and if Nicholas had to hear one more time that he was exhibiting the hallmark signs of a brain tumor, it would be too soon. 

The wisest course of action would be to ignore Seiji, because if he listened, it would only encourage him, and that way lay madness.

Becoming best friends with Seiji, though, meant that Nicholas had learned the art of picking his battles. Leaving the bed unmade would forever be his hill to die on, but some things weren’t worth it. 

At least, when the start of fourth period found Nicholas in the infirmary, not Latin class, that’s what he told himself.

“Nicholas Cox,” the nurse said, reading off her tablet. “What brings you in today?”

Nicholas swung his feet, watching his shoelaces drag on the tile and trying not to feel like an idiot.

“Well,” he said, “it’s going to sound weird, but lately I’ve been getting these headaches…”

After a bit of back and forth, the nurse sent him out with a packet of Zyrtec and a tentative diagnosis of allergies.

“I’ve never had them before,” said Nicholas. 

“Doesn’t matter,” the nurse said. “Your friend was right. You can develop them at any age, and there’s no point in suffering needlessly. Take one pill once a day, and come back and see me if you aren’t better in a week or two.”

In the end, it wasn’t any kind of big deal, which was what he had been trying to tell Seiji the whole weekend. 

He was still trying to figure out how to pry Seiji from his sulk without letting slip that he had followed his advice when Bobby solved the problem for him at dinner.

Eugene was telling Dante a cute story about one of his little brothers, the same one that he had told Nicholas at breakfast yesterday. Nicholas picked at his french fries, half listening, Seiji next to him drinking one of those atrocious green smoothies of his, and Bobby sitting across from him sneaking food off his tray.

Bobby stole another fry, while Nicholas swiped at him and missed. “Hey, you never told me what she said. Do you have allergies or what?” Bobby said, popping the fry in his mouth before he could steal it back.

“What who said?” asked Seiji, the same moment Nicholas replied: “It’s nothing.”

Bobby turned towards Seiji, still munching on the fry. “The nurse,” he told him, glancing back to Nicholas expectantly. 

Nicholas bit back a sigh. “Yeah, she gave me some antihistamines. _ Since I’ve been meaning to go all week_.”

“No, you haven’t,” Bobby said, stealing one more fry. “You just decided today, that’s what you told me. I’m glad Seiji convinced you, I was getting worried.”

“He didn’t,” Nicholas said immediately. “Why are you mooching my food, anyway, weren’t you and Dante going out tonight?” 

Bobby’s face lit up at the question, a tender smile filling his face as he detailed their new apple picking plans for next weekend. Nicholas could feel Seiji’s eyes on him, but he said nothing else for the rest of dinner. 

Nicholas wasn’t fooled, though. Seiji Katayama was nothing if not patient. 

Sure enough, as soon as the door to their room closed Seiji made his move, pushing up his sleeves and wearing a smile much too sharp for Nicholas’ liking. “You went to the nurse today,” he said as he stalked forward, driving Nicholas towards the bed.

“I was going to go anyway,” Nicholas said, backing away from the look in Seiji’s eyes, Seiji matching him step for step, until he tripped over his shoelaces and fell on the mattress, flat on his back with his shirt riding up, like a puppy showing his belly. “It wasn’t because of you.”

“No, of course not.” Seiji slid his hand under Nicholas’ shirt, resting his fingers over the newly healed scar on his hip. The cocky, self-satisfied expression on his face made Nicholas want to kick him in the shin. 

The trouble was, it also made him want to tell Seiji the thoughts he’d been having lately, the dirty ones that wouldn’t leave him alone. Seiji would act them out, Nicholas knew he would. He’d do whatever Nicholas wanted, fuck him good and hard and take detailed notes on it, and next time would be even better. 

_ Fucking insane driven perfectionistic asshole. And I’m the dumbass who’s in lo— _

Nicholas very determinedly did not finish that thought. 

Seiji tugged Nicholas’ shirt over his head, and when he crawled onto the bed, bending over Nicholas’ bare chest, Nicholas leaned back on the sheets. “Wait,” he said. “I want… I was thinking, after last night, I--” 

Seiji sat back on his haunches and studied him, his face focused and resolute, like Nicholas was a new opponent, whose tactics were unknown. “What about it?” he asked lightly. 

The way his fingers were digging into Nicholas’ hips was anything but casual.

“When we wrestled, and you held me down…” Nicholas stopped, flushing to the tips of his ears.

Seiji’s eyes hadn’t moved from his own. He watched every move Nicholas made like he was going to put it down in his journal later, a play-by-play. “I held you down,” he agreed, his fingernails biting down on Nicholas’ skin. “And?”

“And I imagined, later, I wished that you had, had kept holding me and--”

“You fantasized about it,” Seiji said, his voice like a vise. “When?” 

Nicholas spread his hands over his face and groaned.

“When?” Seiji pried his hands off, relentless as ever. 

“When do you think?” Nicholas cried, squirming with humiliation. “When I was jerking off in the shower, you prick.” He glowered up at Seiji, who didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “I imagined us both, naked, you on top of me, like before but you keep holding me, making me, um, forcing me, to ah,--” at this Seiji’s eyebrows raised, and Nicholas noted with grim satisfaction a faint blush on the tops of his cheeks— “let you kiss me, us touching everywhere and then you sit back on your ankles and--” 

“You want me to hold you down and come on you,” Seiji interrupted, brutally succinct.

There was a brief silence as Nicholas looked at Seiji’s hands on his hips, clamped ruthlessly into place as he strained against them, and longed for a quick and painless death. 

“That’s disgusting,” Seiji said. “Filthy.” He bit out the last word, bearing down harder and harder with his fingers until Nicholas writhed underneath him. “Hurry up and take off your pants,” he said, getting up and leaving red marks behind when he let go.

“Bossy,” Nicholas said, trying to ignore how his stomach flipped at the sting of authority in Seiji’s voice. He stuck his hand in the dresser drawer, fishing around until he found the lube, which was tacky from the last time he’d used it, and then he managed to untangle his jeans and boxers and awkwardly shove them off, pulling them when they got stuck around his ankles. Meanwhile Seiji stood, lithe and gorgeous, hands dancing down his buttons, taking off his clothes with a grace that was, Nicholas felt, completely unfair. 

He crawled over Nicholas, the heat coming off of him like an oven. “Well?” Seiji said, his nose stuck in the air, looking down on him like always, his arms bracketing Nicholas in, and below that trim waist…

_ Hung like a fucking horse. _

It would never not be irritating.

“Well _ what_?” Nicholas asked. Seiji’s ocean smell was everywhere now, in his mouth, in his lungs, heavy and primal and fierce, and Nicholas was torn between telling him to fuck off and begging him to get on with it, for God’s sake.

“I don’t see why I should get my hands dirty too,” Seiji said. “You put it on me.” 

“You are such a diva,” Nicholas grumbled, pretending like his whole body wasn’t burning at the thought of touching Seiji there. He rubbed the lube between his hands, heating it up, before reaching down to skin like silk, his palms sliding over Seiji in an effortless, frictionless glide. Seiji was thick, and his fingers barely met when he gripped him and twisted his wrist down, and Seiji let out a long, shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut. He had been hard already, but as Nicholas stroked him, he noticed that Seiji was dripping, sticky webs that clung to Nicholas’ hands and made him blush from his head to his toes.

_ That’s for me. _

“Enough,” Seiji said, his voice only slightly raspy. He leaned back on his heels, firm fingers wrapping around Nicholas’ wrists and pinning them to the bed as Seiji leaned back down, lowering himself over Nicholas. He was burning hot and slick and Nicholas couldn’t stop moving, twisting, his chest pressing uselessly against Seiji, and Seiji said something in French, more a snarl than a word and slammed his hips down, grinding him into the bed, sliding against Nicholas in a cruel, punishing rhythm and Nicholas was going to come in record time, even for him, and fuck. 

_ Fuckity fuck fuck. _

“Is this what you wanted?” Seiji asked, tone unaccountably soft, his nose in Nicholas’ hair, creamy skin pressing down on him everywhere, everywhere as he made a circle with his hips and murmured something in French again, kissing the word into Nicholas’ temple. 

His hands were still snug on Nicholas’ wrists, and when Nicholas tried to flex them, there was no give whatsoever.

“Yes,” breathed Nicholas. “_Fuck _ yes.” 

“Good,” Seiji said. He licked Nicholas’ neck, sucking on his jugular, his hands and hips spreading Nicholas across the sheets like hot butter. Nicholas wondered deliriously if he used his full strength, if he could get away— but when he tried Seiji’s hold was like iron, unbreakable, and Nicholas wound his legs around Seiji’s waist, hooking them together as close as they could go, and came all over his belly with a strangled yip, as Seiji followed silently after, making a glorious mess of Nicholas’ chest that took two wet washcloths and a towel to clean up.

Later, when Nicholas lay curled against Seiji’s chest, Seiji’s fingers in his hair, half asleep, Seiji shifted underneath him, folding him neatly under his chin, like he had on the Ferris wheel.

“I’m glad you went to the nurse, Nicholas,” he said, and there was nothing the least bit arrogant in his voice this time. 

The back of Nicholas’ neck tingled where Seiji’s hand rested, needling pin pricks rising like the crest of a wave, and they swept over his chest, his cheeks, leaving him tongue tied and helpless. He snuggled closer to Seiji, hiding his face in Seiji’s shoulder, praying he wouldn’t push the issue, wouldn’t want to talk— because sometimes, Nicholas knew, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and right now he didn’t think he could hide how he felt, not for anything.

But it seemed like Seiji wasn’t looking for a reply. He was content to hold Nicholas in his arms, stroking his hair, until Nicholas forgot to be afraid, and fell asleep. 

****************

Nicholas would be the first to admit Seiji Katayama could be obsessive bordering on neurotic, but to be fair to Seiji, in one particular instance he did have a point. 

What had happened at the Eastern Division Fall Tournament had scared Nicholas too. 

The whole ruptured appendix situation was pretty ugly, and could have been avoided if he had listened to Seiji’s advice. In his own defense, though, there had been plenty to distract him.

It had been right before… whatever it was they were doing… started.

During one of the worst weekends of Nicholas’ life.

It should have been awesome, was the thing.

It should have been fucking amazing. 

Sophomore year was shaping up to be the best yet. Nicholas remained in a state of euphoric disbelief about being officially on the team, Bobby had made it as a reserve, and Eugene was going to be a chill and most excellent captain. Last but not least, he and Seiji seemed closer than ever, even if sometimes there was a new tension between them, different from the norm, that made Nicholas’ palms sweat and his skin stretch too tight on his belly and his cheeks go bright pink at the most awkward times. 

Coach had sprung for a gorgeous hotel for the weekend, one that would have earned even Aiden’s begrudging approval. They had gotten there on Friday afternoon, and the tournament didn’t begin until the next morning. Once everyone had unpacked, she treated the team to dinner at a restaurant by the hotel. 

The burger was fancy, grass fed beef locally sourced, fixed it exactly like Nicholas liked, nothing on it but bread and what appeared to be the better part of a jar of pickles, but he ate less than half. 

“Did you have a chance to think about Paris again?” Seiji asked a little too casually, cutting into his meat with a dignified precision Nicholas could never hope to match, not in a thousand years. 

“No,” Nicholas said, which happened to be a bald faced lie, but with the way he was feeling he was in no condition to argue about this particular topic. When Nicholas put his crumpled napkin on the plate, Seiji glanced up from his unpronounceable French dish, and the bridge of his nose furrowed. “You’re finished?” 

Nicholas shrugged, jerking a thumb at the bizarre concoction of mushrooms, beef, and the lone twisted vegetable on Seiji’s plate and shooting him an easy grin. “Lost my appetite for some reason.”

Seiji rolled his eyes, the wrinkle vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “I realize that you possess the palate of a kindergartner, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t cultivate an appreciation for anything more sophisticated than a hot dog,” he said, launching into one of his rants, the burger forgotten entirely.

Soon Nicholas’ fake grin had curled into a real one. Watching Seiji getting riled up was one of his favorite pastimes besides fencing, and it was a good distraction from his stomach, which had been bothering him lately. If he said anything, though, Seiji would fuss, would want him to go to Coach, and it was fine. Nicholas probably had a bug, but he didn’t think it was anything serious. 

There was no reason to get up in arms about it. 

They headed to the hotel after that, and to sleep not long after. Seiji was absolutely Draconian when it came to his routine before a match, and since Nicholas wasn’t feeling too great, he had no problem going to bed early.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and the team had a promising start before the tournament even began. 

Jesse Coste had come over to their breakfast table, strutting right up to Seiji and Nicholas with a shit-eating grin.

Being Jesse, he didn’t even bother with hello.

“Did you hear?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “Last year some parents got bent out of shape about unsportsmanlike conduct, and now the school captains have to get together with their regional rivals to promote ‘inter-team unity.’” Jesse rolled his eyes to show exactly what he thought about that. “There’s a meeting in the atrium about it,” he said to Seiji, drumming his fingers on the table. “If you don’t hurry up, we’ll be late.”

“Why, Jesse Coste,” Eugene drawled, coming up from behind and tossing an arm around his shoulder, “you came all this way to fetch me? I’m touched.”

Jesse shrugged him off immediately, his lips pinched together, but there was a curious flush on his cheeks, faint, but noticeable. “They need captains, Labao,” he said stiffly. “Not reserves.”

Eugene laughed, a rich, pleasant sound. “I know, babes. You want the captain of the Kings’ Row fencing team.” Eugene winked. “And you got him.” 

Jesse scoffed, eyes darting to Seiji and Nicholas, but when no one said anything, he gave a horrified gasp. “There is _ no way _ you made captain over Seiji. You’re not even ranked.”

Seiji shot him a deadpan look, while Eugene tapped the captain’s pin on his chest, hoisting up Jesse’s bag next to his own with a grin. “Read it and weep, pretty boy. Guess we’ll be spending some quality time together. Now let’s go, before we really are late.”

“This is ludicrous,” Jesse said to Eugene’s departing back. “Your coach is a lunatic. And I don’t need you to carry my stuff!” he cried out indignantly, and Eugene paused at that last, craning his head over his shoulder.

“Oh, but it’s my _ pleasure_, princess,” he said, grinning, and Jesse made a disgusted noise and hurried after him, his cheeks even pinker than before. 

“Why would I ever want to be captain?” Seiji asked, shaking his head in disgust as they watched Jesse and Eugene get onto the elevator. “What a pain in the ass.” He continued slicing up his sausage into even, exactly sized bits while Nicholas sipped his ginger ale. 

He had eaten a piece of plain toast and, even though the sausage smelled delicious, he wasn’t tempted. Nicholas wanted to do well today, and he couldn’t chance it, not with his stomach still being weird.

His caution paid off: Nicholas’ first bout was a rout, leaving him walking away with a 15 to 3 victory. Even Seiji seemed vaguely impressed— which for him meant he only had three major criticisms of Nicholas’ technique, and not ten. The afternoon found Kings’ Row in third place overall, with Nicholas winning the rest of his remaining matches handily, and his stomach was feeling, if not any better, hardly any worse.

There was no indication whatsoever that things were about to go straight to hell.

The crowning glory of the weekend was his appendix rupturing. But that didn’t happen until later. 

The first thing that happened was Alex. 

Seiji had wanted to get some air after his final match and Nicholas trailed him outside, listening to his bitching and trying not to smile. They were standing on a side patio split off from the hotel’s convention center, Seiji still glistening from the bout, his jacket unzipped and showing a flash of skin, his hair unexpectedly ruffled. Nicholas was trying not to stare so that Seiji wouldn’t feel compelled to fix it, and it distracted him enough that he didn’t catch Alex’s approach until it was too late.

“I should have been able to parry that last touch,” Seiji said, giving a tiny shake of his head and peering intently into the distance at nothing in particular. “I didn’t see it in time to--”

Alex stopped exactly close enough to Nicholas’ personal space to be rude. “Why, hello there,” he said, flashing the dimples that Nicholas had found charming, before he knew the personality underneath them.

Nicholas swallowed, and when he took a breath, he gagged. His ex was still using Axe, apparently. “Alex,” he said. 

“Who the hell are you?” Seiji asked, irritable at being interrupted. 

“Oh, Nick and I go way back,” Alex said, flaunting his posh British accent to the fullest, and Nicholas flinched. 

He hated that nickname.

Seiji put his hands on his hips, and Nicholas could feel the brunt of his ire focusing on Alex, like sunlight through a magnifying glass. “We’re in the middle of something. Catch up with _ Nick _ later, why don’t you?”

“Thanks for your concern. I’m sure we will,” said Alex, his smirk widening. “I was coming to tell him my room number so he could schedule me in.” 

He pronounced it the English way, _ shed YOOL _, while Seiji regarded him blankly. Nicholas used to swoon over that accent, but now his entire body went numb.

_ Please don’t bring it up, please don’t-- _

“Having trouble imagining us together, yeah?” Alex snickered, while Nicholas’ throat swelled up like he had swallowed a wasp. “Let me tell you, fucking down can be fun.” Alex leaned forward and his smile took on the cruel edge that Nicholas remembered all too well. “For a fling. He’s not exactly long term material, if you catch my drift.”

“You dated?” Seiji asked, everything about him motionless except his eyes, which cast back and forth between Nicholas’ pale face and Alex’s sneer, narrowing further every time he made the circuit. 

Alex laughed again. “I wouldn’t say that. It was a good time, though. He’s entertaining, isn’t he, with his scruffy clothes and his messy hair... a friendly little mutt. Dirty, but cute, eh?” 

“I’m right here,” said Nicholas, zipping his workout jacket to his chin. Even with that extra layer the balcony seemed arctic, and he hugged himself, hands squished under his elbows. Next to him stood Seiji, lips pressed together in a white line, gaze a stormy black, still as the eye of a hurricane.

Alex was too busy torturing Nicholas to notice. “Nick acts like a tough guy, but for hookups he’s shy as hell-- he’ll do everything but roll over and beg with those big brown eyes of his, but he’d never dare say a thing.” Nicholas went scarlet at that, and Alex’s dimples deepened. “You’ll have to make all the moves, but damn is it worth it: he melts when you kiss him and he’s deliciously bashful in bed--” 

“ALEX,” Nicholas said miserably, “please--” 

“See?” Alex elbowed Seiji. “Careful though, he gets attached way too easily.”

Seiji stared at Alex with smoldering eyes, moving slowly and deliberately between him and Nicholas. 

“You should leave,” he said, in a toneless voice that Nicholas had never heard before. 

“Ah, I understand,” Alex said, looking from Nicholas to Seiji and then back again. 

“No, you don’t,” Nicholas said, mortified.

“I don’t need to tell Katayama how much you adore getting bitten, do I?” Alex leered at Nicholas. “He knows first hand.”

Seiji’s knuckles went white as his lips. “Go,” he said, the word mangled as it forced its way through clenched teeth.

“No, I totally get it. It can be fun to slum--”

There was a blur of movement, a popping noise, and a scream, and then Nicholas’ face was buried in the back of a fencing jacket, the obnoxious reek replaced by the clean, familiar tang of sweat and ocean.

“WHAD DA FUCK?!” Alex bellowed, his voice weirdly distorted. “You jus’ broke my nose!” 

When Nicholas tried to see what had happened, Seiji raised an arm, pushing him back without breaking eye contact with Alex, whose nose was gushing a disturbing amount of blood. 

“I could tell from our match that your grasp on the nature of cause and effect is primitive at best,” Seiji said coolly. “Let me make it simple for you. Unless you want my fist in your face again, piss off.”

“Nicholas isnd word id.” Alex wiped the blood from his face, hawking and spitting a glob of red onto the ground. “You’ll see.”

Seiji took a single step back, his shoulder pressed against Nicholas’, a solid, comforting presence. He was clenching and unclenching his hands, and his lips were pulled back in a parody of a smile, showing the cut of his teeth to an alarming degree. “Do I need to repeat myself?” 

“Fuck the bodth of you,” Alex said heatedly, but he had already begun a strategic retreat, his eyes wide and focused on Seiji’s hands where they lay at his side, curled into fists again. 

When the door shut behind him, Nicholas sagged against Seiji’s shoulder. He hadn’t been this nauseated since that time he got the stomach flu in 5th grade.

_ Fuck. _

“What he said--”

“I don’t care,” said Seiji harshly.

“But--”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” said Seiji, his eyes glittering. “You don’t need to explain yourself to anyone.”

“I know, I know, I just...” Nicholas rubbed the tip of his nose, staring intently at the toe of his knock off Adidas. “Alex, he told me we were dating. He told me--” Nicholas’ voice grew soft and unsteady, but he carried on-- “a lot of things. And I trusted him, and that was probably dumb, but it wasn’t just in my head.” He worked the rubber against the floor where it was peeling off, not daring to look up at Seiji’s expression. “Not like the way he described it, like I’m...” _ Some kind of pathetic stray, starved for attention… _

“You think I believe a thing he said about you?” 

“I don’t know.” Nicholas sighed. “I wanted to tell you my side, I guess.” 

“Slander from some petty, useless _ cur_,” Seiji said, enunciating each syllable with the same exactness he used to execute his parries, “means absolutely nothing to me. You know that, don’t you?”

Nicholas bowed his head, still avoiding Seiji’s eyes. “Do you mind if we skip dinner with the team?”

“No,” said Seiji, his voice low and unhappy. “That place we went does takeout, I can pick it up if you want.”

Nicholas tried handing him his debit card, but Seiji drew away like it was his filthy gym shorts. “I’m buying,” he said. “It’s not up for discussion.”

“Ok,” Nicholas said listlessly, the fight gone from him. “I’ll see you up in the room.”

He turned and fled before Seiji could say anything else.

When the keycard beeped and let him in, and he was finally alone, Nicholas leaned against the slick plastic wood of the door and squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach hurt more now, throbbing like a bad tooth, and that was good, because he was trying not to cry, and the pain cut through the messy feelings he thought he had left behind. 

The shitty thing was, it wasn’t even like he liked Alex anymore. Alex was a jackass, and Nicholas was relieved they weren’t together. 

It was just… how he had treated Nicholas, the way he had used him, like he was worthless, like he was nothing: to have Alex bragging about it to Seiji, of all people. 

Seiji, who drove a Porsche, who had a crush on golden boy Jesse Cox, who didn’t like the perfectly nice eclairs at Kings Row because he was used to the ones in Paris. 

Nicholas stared at his shoe where the rubber had come off, and his vision blurred. He swiped at the tears angrily, slumping down to the floor.

There was no point in getting upset.

Seiji knew far more damning things about him.

He knew Nicholas was a bastard whose deadbeat dad hadn’t bothered to visit him, not ever. He had been there in the locker room at the State Finals last March, when Robert Coste got out his checkbook and pen and asked Nicholas to name his price.

Nicholas didn’t even know people still wrote checks, for Christ’s sake.

Coste hadn’t been cruel about it, though. He had been awkward and nervous and embarrassed, and Nicholas wished he had been mean. His father’s forced camaraderie and halfhearted apologies ate into him like acid. Nicholas had wanted to puke his guts out the entire time.

“You seem like a good kid,” said Coste, raking a hand through hair as golden as the medal he won. “It’s not you. It’s the optics.”

“The optics,” Nicholas said dully. With his blue eyes and blond hair, Coste looked nothing like him. To anyone looking in, they could just as well have been strangers.

“There’s a sponsorship deal with Adidas that Jesse is on the cusp of signing, and if something were to get out on this level…” He shrugged with one shoulder, and it was so fucking weird to see Nicholas’ mannerisms playing out on the father he was meeting for the first time in his life.

The father that wanted him to stop fencing, the thing he loved most in the whole world, because it might endanger his son’s career.

“I can pay your tuition for Kings Row,” Coste said. “And for college. What I did was horrible, and I’m not excusing it-- but I don’t want my son to suffer for something that I did.”

_ My son_. Nicholas’ insides felt like a pumpkin with the guts scooped out, hollow and ready for carving. He hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry when Coste wouldn’t take no for an answer, when he clicked his pen and wrote out a blank check for a cool 200K, shook Nicholas’ hand and left. 

Seiji had been in the showers, and Nicholas realized later that he must have been waiting, afraid to interrupt and make it worse. 

Like anything could have made it worse.

When he saw Seiji, Nicholas felt his heart stop in his chest. Even though he was shaking on the tile, his arms around his knees, he had been hit with such a wave of vertigo that he about vomited for real.

Seiji hadn’t said a word. He knelt down, crushing Nicholas to his chest with one arm, tangling his other hand in Nicholas’ hair. 

“I didn’t…” Nicholas said, his face wet with tears. “It was never about the money.” Seiji had stroked his fingers through his hair, holding him tighter and tighter, until his ribs twinged and Nicholas stopped talking altogether, taking long, shuddering breaths with his face hidden in Seiji’s neck. 

Nicholas only discovered afterward, when Coach took Seiji aside with a gimlet eye, that while he was holding Nicholas, Seiji missed his own match and lost by forfeit. 

Unless Nicholas wanted to end tonight in a similar fashion, with him sobbing in Seiji’s arms like a total zero, he needed to get the situation under control. He took a deep, gasping breath, hugging his arms around his knees and making a valiant effort to piece himself back together. 

When Seiji came back to the room, Nicholas had managed to drag himself to the shower and gotten into his pyjamas, but his stomach was still throbbing.

Seiji set a bag down on the nightstand, and it crinkled when he opened it. “I got you extra pickles.” 

“Maybe later.” Nicholas gave him a queasy smile.

“Not even a bite?”

“It’s not because of Alex.” Nicholas clutched his knees against his chest. “I wasn’t feeling good before.”

“You didn’t finish your burger yesterday,” said Seiji accusingly, as if he had just admitted to premeditated murder. “And now you won’t eat. I think we should go to Coach.”

“And tell her what? That I have a stomach ache?” Nicholas hid his face in his arms. “C’mon Seiji, she has more important things to worry about,” he said in a muffled voice. 

“Nicholas, if it’s this bad she’d want to know.” 

“It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“You’d better be,” Seiji said, voice low and serious, and Nicholas knew he’d be hearing about this later. He put a hand on his shoulder, and Nicholas picked his head up. “What was that movie you wanted to see?”

“I thought you were going to do cardio tonight.” 

“I feel like staying in,” said Seiji. He held out his hand. “Come on, you’ll feel better if you lie down.”

“Okay.” Seiji pulled him up and led him onto the queen sized bed Seiji had claimed for his own. Seiji left the remote on the dresser and hopped in the shower while Nicholas assembled a nest out of pillows, sinking into it with a sigh.

Even though he wasn’t gone for long, Nicholas still felt a wave of relief once Seiji laid down next to him, grabbing the remote and flicking through the channels. “You like this show, right?” Seiji had turned it to Bear Grylls, and Nicholas nodded; right then he could have watched static, as long as it meant he wasn’t expected to talk.

Nicholas was half delirious from pain, and also from sadness, which was no excuse, but it was the only one he had for what happened next: he curled around Seiji like he curled around his pillow at night, resting his head on Seiji’s chest, his arms wrapped around him, knees pressed against him, and quavered.

Seiji didn’t speak. He didn’t move either, except for his right arm, which slipped around Nicholas’ back and fastened him to Seiji’s side, fingers resting on the nape of his neck, stroking his hair.

They watched in silence for a while, Nicholas shuddering when the pain got exceptionally awful. “If you’re still feeling this bad when I get back from practice tomorrow morning, I don’t care what you say, I’m taking you to Coach if I have to carry you myself,” Seiji said, hand drifting through his hair. Nicholas didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded, his cheek brushing the smooth fabric of Seiji’s shirt.

“Good,” said Seiji, and the lull of the tv and the motion of Seiji’s fingers managed to put him to sleep, even with his stomach heavy as lead. 

When Nicholas woke up at 5 AM to a stabbing pain in his abdomen, Seiji was gone, and he rolled over, pressing his face in the pillow and inhaling Seiji’s salty scent and waiting for the pain to pass.

Then his appendix ruptured. 

********************

  
  
  


The pain hurtled through him in waves, crimson bleeding behind his closed eyelids, and when the last one subsided, Nicholas got up, staggering towards the door. It was still early, which meant Seiji was at practice, and Nicholas could go to the locker room and wait for him to be done. 

Seiji would never let him live this down, he would be insufferable for the rest of recorded time, but also, Seiji had a journal with notes in meticulous ink, no white out necessarily, and when Nicholas caught strep throat and the room looked like a bomb went off, tissues and dirty clothes everywhere, Seiji sniped at him mercilessly, but he also saved Nicholas his ice cream from lunch. Even if he had refused to give it to Nicholas until he took his antibiotic.

_ Seiji will know what to do. _

Nicholas was walking into the locker room and then he wasn’t. A sabre sank into his shoulder blades, electric ice tearing into him, and he couldn’t breathe, he was stiff and still on the floor, speechless. 

When it stopped, he found himself on the ground, and everything was vivid, cut out with the absence of pain. The stainless white floor of the locker room was divided into clean black lines, the contrast jumping out at him from where he lay, cheek pressed against the cool tile.

“Nicholas,” a familiar voice was saying, the word sharp with command, but the hand on his arm rested there as lightly as one of his threadbare t-shirts.

Seiji crouched on his knees, hovering above him, midnight eyes even more intense than usual, a little crinkle perched above his nose. His jacket was unzipped, hanging open over his shirt, and his spiky black hair fell into his face. Seiji was a creature of habit, locked into his routines, and one Nicholas found curiously endearing was that Seiji brushed his hair back into place after he finished practice in the morning, even though he went straight to the showers afterwards. Nicholas wished he would leave it alone, sometimes. There was something about Seiji being all rumpled that he liked.

“You weren’t done with practice,” Nicholas said, trying for casual, but it came out weird and scratchy. “I don’t— I can wait until you’re finished.” He would normally have tried to laugh here, to erase the wrinkle above Seiji’s nose, but he was afraid to do anything that might trigger the pain, so he smiled at Seiji and his sticky up hair instead. 

Seiji was ignoring him, which was nothing new. “Can you walk?” he asked, studying Nicholas up and down, those penetrating eyes that never missed anything no doubt taking note of the hole in his shirt, his bare feet, and the way his hands were shaking, even though he was trying to stop them. The lack of pain was such a relief that Nicholas felt giddy, and even the prospect of Seiji’s oncoming disapproval (at his clothes, at his hair, at his continued existence) didn’t mar it.

“I don’t think so,” Nicholas said. “But I can stay here until it gets better, and then we can…” Seiji was still not listening.

Seiji was grasping Nicholas by the arms and winding them about his own neck, burying Nicholas’ face in his chest, leaving Nicholas talking to a smidge of exposed collarbone. Up close, Nicholas could smell Seiji’s sweat, along with the faint whiff of his deodorant, and underneath everything the clean, masculine scent that was Seiji’s alone, deceptively peaceful on the surface, but with a hell of an undertow. You could drown in it, if you weren’t careful. 

“Hold on to me,” Seiji said from above, and Nicholas could feel the rumble of his voice as much as he could hear it. “And don’t let go until I say.”

Before Nicholas could reply Seiji was lifting him up, holding him close against his chest and walking, quickly but fluidly, out of the locker room and towards the elevator doors.

“What are you doing?” Nicholas asked. 

“I told you I’d carry you if I had to,” Seiji said, the sound a comforting vibration against Nicholas’ skin. 

“But you could get Coach, you don’t need to--”

The elevator dinged and Seiji got on. “I’m getting an Uber to meet us downstairs. The hospital is less than 5 minutes away.”

“The hospital?”

“Yes,” Seiji said. “Where we’re going, right now.”

“You don’t need to do this,” Nicholas protested from where he was neatly folded in Seiji’s arms, like a duckling under his parent’s wing. “I think if we just wait it out, it will--”

And then the pain came roaring back, and he buried his face in Seiji’s neck and held on for dear life.

When he could focus again, they were outside, and it was cold, and Seiji was talking, his voice careful and low.

“We’ll be there soon,” he said, cradling Nicholas against his chest as he slid into the car, and a wave of agony closed over Nicholas’ head and he could barely breathe.

The rest of the morning passed in a fog of torture. Suspended within the haze were pinpoint moments of clarity, but mostly Nicholas was lost in a maze of suffering, of lightning flashes behind his eyelids and a mind numbing voltage sparking up and down his right side, making him scream like he was being executed. 

At some point, they got to the hospital and checked in, but Nicholas had no memory of either. The next thing he could remember was being laid, painstakingly slow, onto a crinkly hospital bed. 

“You can let go,” Seiji said, Nicholas’ face still hidden in his neck. “The doctor will be here any minute.”

The pain was corrosive and all consuming now, he was dissolving into nothing and it was the worst Nicholas had ever, ever felt, and Seiji was warm, and good at everything, and he held Nicholas in his arms like he was something fragile, something precious, and if he wasn’t there Nicholas was sure he’d sink into the dark behind his eyelids, and never come back out. “Promise you won’t leave,” he said.

Seiji didn’t say anything at first, just stiffened under his arms, and Nicholas flinched. _ I know better than to say that, how fucking stupid, he doesn’t want to hear about how I— _

“I’d never leave you like this,” said Seiji.

Nicholas closed his eyes and let go, slumping bonelessly onto the bed. Seiji put a hand over his wrist, holding it far too tightly, and the nurse came in, and Seiji started talking, and Nicholas zoned out, waiting for the torture to commence.

“Referred pain,” someone was saying, pressing cold, clinical fingers along his side, tracing below his ribs. Then they took a knife and skewered him, carving him into pieces and Nicholas screamed and screamed and screamed.

When the wave went away that time, he was lying on a bed clammy and shuddering, and someone else was yelling in a cold fury about morphine, and why it wasn’t here right fucking now, and he opened his eyes to see Seiji, nostrils flared, jabbing an accusing finger at a nurse cringing before him. 

“If your friend has to have surgery, we can’t… "

“Why aren’t you prepping him now, then?” When another nurse stepped close to Nicholas, reaching out to him, Seiji moved fast, fencing fast, and suddenly his back was in front of Nicholas. 

“Don’t touch him,” Seiji said fiercely. His hands hung fisted at his side, shoulders raised to his neck, but when Nicholas grabbed his wrist, he immediately linked their fingers together and turned around. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “I won’t let--” 

And everything disappeared in a blur of electric shock, lights dancing behind his eyes, and someone was screaming again, and Nicholas thought it was probably him. 

“---with your appendix. You need to have surgery,” Seiji was saying, as the room began to define itself once more. “What’s your mom’s cell number?” He sat in a chair by the bed, and his face was very close to Nicholas’, fingers wrapped around his wrist in a steel grip.

“She’s at work,” said Nicholas tiredly. “She won’t come.”

The nurse cleared his throat. “Technically speaking, under Pennsylvania law this is an emergency, and we don’t require her consent in that case, only yours.” He handed Seiji a clipboard and nodded at him respectfully. “Come get me when you’ve decided,” he said.

Seiji’s fingers tightened on his wrist. “They said your appendix burst,” he said quietly. “The longer it’s in there, the more damage it will do.”

“You think I should sign, then.” 

Seiji’s fingers squeezed his wrist hard enough that the bones seemed to scrape against one another. “Yes,” he said, his face stoic as ever. Above Seiji’s nose the crinkle had dug into the skin, deeper than he had ever seen it. 

“I’m scared,” Nicholas said. The pain had gouging the ability to lie out of him, and the pen felt awkward in his hand; he shook so much he could barely press it to the paper. “You won’t leave?” he asked Seiji again, as the nurses descended upon him, injecting a needle into his IV. The icy bite of the sedative smudged the edges of everything, made the world a dream, smearing even the delicate corners of Seiji’s eyes, blurring them as though he was crying. 

“I won’t,” said Seiji, as Nicholas faded into twilight. “I promise.”

**********************

When he woke up the lights were off, and it was cold, a deep chill that sank into his chest. Something beeped in the corner, and the room was barbed with the scent of antiseptic, prickly and mean. He sat up, and a bright slice of pain cut down his side, forcing him back down with a cry.

“Nicholas,” said someone sleepily beside him, and Seiji was there.

Seiji was there, leaning over him, still in his workout gear, dark circles under his eyes. “Don’t sit up,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. 

“Your hair.” Nicholas stretched a hand out, sleek strands gliding across his palm like feathers. _He hates for it to be like this._ “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not doing a very good job.” Seiji’s hair was still a tousled wreck, but he caught his wrist before Nicholas could move again, pressing it down on the bed. 

“It’s fine.” Seiji reached down, brushing Nicholas’ bangs from his forehead. 

Seiji had fencer’s hands, athlete’s hands, strong and calloused and purposeful, that had led him to back-to-back National titles, that corrected Nicholas’ technique doggedly, warm on his shoulder, pushing his chest in to make a smaller target, that held him on the Ferris wheel when he was scared, hands that were capable, hands Nicholas could trust with anything. 

He leaned into Seiji’s touch, too mixed up on whatever drug they had given him to explain about the hands, but Seiji must have understood anyway, because he kept stroking Nicholas’ face, ghosting over his cheeks with jagged fingertips, dark, tired eyes staring at him with a look Nicholas had never seen in them before.

“Go back to sleep,” he said. 

Still telling me what to do, Nicholas took a breath to say, but in between that breath and the next he was gone. 

******************* 

By the time the tournament wrapped up, Nicholas had started feeling (mostly) normal, and the doctor said they’d be discharged him on Monday morning. By then his room smelled like a Five Guys, because the team had insisted on bringing him a takeout burger for every meal, as if to make up for the burgers he hadn’t been able to eat before. They had taken turns coming to see him on Sunday, trickling in and out as they left to fight, all except Seiji, who according to Bobby hadn’t left his side since he’d carried Nicholas through the ER doors. He had finally changed from his workout clothes, but otherwise Seiji looked like he had when Nicholas woke from surgery: hair unkempt, eyes wild, and dead tired.

“He forfeited his bout?” Nicholas whispered sidelong to Bobby, his eyes on his best friend, who was deep in what appeared to be an exceptionally unpleasant conversation with the charge nurse regarding Nicholas’ afternoon pain meds, which had yet to appear.

“Nicholas, you aren’t hearing me,” Bobby whispered furiously back. “After you got sick, he forfeited the entire rest of the tournament. That’s why I haven’t been in to see you till now. Coach had to put me in for all his matches.”

Bobby shrugged his shoulders in response to Nicholas’ upraised palms, and the silence that followed was broken, not by either of them, but by Seiji, whose under-eye circles had taken up permanent residence on his face. 

“My friend has been very patiently waiting,” he said, hands clenched at his sides, “and I’m sick and tired of hearing excuses for your staff’s overwhelming incompetence. I want to speak to your supervisor. _Now_.”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse began, in a tone that didn’t sound very sorry at all, and then the door opened and a blond haired blue-eyed angel peeked in. 

“Nicholas Cox?” he said.

“That’s me,” said Nicholas, blinking as the vision beamed at him. 

“I’m Riley, and I have your Vicodin right here. Thanks for being patient.” 

“Sure,” said Nicholas dumbly. If he wanted, Riley could model for American Eagle in his spare time. He was the kind of guy that would make Aiden Kane insecure. 

“Here you go, darling.” Riley expertly dispensed the drug into Nicholas’ IV, giving the room a cheerful wave and departing as quickly as he had arrived, followed by the sour faced charge nurse, whose expression mirrored the one on Seiji’s face. 

“Jesus,” said Bobby, stretching the word. “Maybe being in the hospital isn’t such a bad thing after all, if that’s who takes care of you.”

“Ha.” Seiji crossed his arms in front of his chest, the bags under his eyes just emphasizing his glare. “I’d hardly call being over an hour late taking care of someone.”

“If I were single, I’d go out with him in a heartbeat.” Bobby leapt to his feet, hanging his arms on Nicholas’ bed railing. “Nicholas, you told me what kind of girl you like… but I never realized I should ask about the boys, too!” Bobby leaned over the rail, radiating excitement like a small, gleeful sun. “Tell me your type! I have to know who to set you up with!”

“My… type?” Nicholas glanced over to see Seiji’s reaction, but he was staring at Bobby, his glare reaching paint stripping proportions. 

“I heard about you and Alex. But I didn’t get a chance to see him before he fell down the stairs and had to pull out, it’s such a shame!” 

Nicholas pulled the pillow tight to his chest. “He fell down the stairs?”

“Bobby,” said Seiji sharply. “Nicholas is still recovering. I think it would be best if you go. He needs rest.”

“Seiji,” said Bobby, giving him a syrupy smile. “You got to meet Alex too! What’s he--”

“GOODBYE, BOBBY,” said Seiji. He wrangled Bobby out the door, this close to dragging him out by the scruff of the neck. 

“God, I thought he’d never shut up,” said Seiji, snapping on the lamp by the bed and throwing himself down in the chair next to Nicholas. He sat his elbow on the table and propped his chin up on his palm, watching the door like he was afraid if he let his guard down Bobby might sneak back in. Up close the circles under his eyes were huge.

“Shouldn’t you be headed back, too?” 

Seiji lifted his head. “I promised you I would stay,” he said, and Nicholas’ stomach gave a little flip that had nothing to do with his surgery.

“They won’t kick you out?”

“I’d like to see them try,” Seiji said, with his nose in the air. “Riley didn’t look like he could parry a feather.”

When Nicholas giggled Seiji’s mouth curled up at the ends, just so. He cocked his head, looking down at the floor before he said, half seriously: “Please tell me he’s not your type.”

“Nah,” said Nicholas. “He’s too easy.” He grinned at Seiji again. “I thought you’d know by now.”

“Know what?”

“I like a challenge,” he said, and Seiji’s chin jerked up, his dark eyes wide. “Don’t you get it?” Nicholas teased. “C’mon, you’re the biggest challenge of all, and I’ve been after you since the day we met.” 

Seiji’s breath hitched as he sat up straight in the chair, more awake than he’d been the entire day, and then Nicholas’ brain caught up with his words. 

“As friends,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve been after you to be my friend. I know it isn’t the same. I mean, I wasn’t… I know that you don’t, that you’d never...” Nicholas dug his nails into his palm. “What’s your type, Seiji?” he blurted out, because otherwise he would just keep talking, and nothing good could come from that. 

“My type?” asked Seiji, giving a hysterical bark of laughter.

“You’d want someone who follows the rules, I bet.” Nicholas began to pull off the extra strip of tape on his IV. He needed somewhere for his eyes to go that wasn’t Seiji’s face. “Someone who never sets a foot wrong, who never has a hair out of place, who wouldn’t dream of leaving a mess in the bathroom.” Someone who fit in Seiji’s world like he was born to be there. Someone like Jesse.

A rough, cool hand covered Nicholas’, sending his heartbeat into his throat. “You should know by now that I have an infinite weakness for sweet things.” Seiji squeezed once, light but masterful, the way he fought, before letting go. “I always have, and it increases exponentially,” he said, “the more time that I spend around you.”

Nicholas laid his head back down on the pillow as the ceiling spun around him. “I think they gave me an extra dose because you yelled at them,” he said woozily.

“And well they should,” said Seiji, rummaging in the dresser next to the bed. “Here, I’ve got the remote. Let’s watch something until you get sleepy.”

When Seiji put the remote back down, he set it by Nicholas’ hand, but he didn’t pull his own arm back. He laid it by Nicholas’, side by side, close enough that Nicholas felt the heat from Seiji’s skin.

Bear Grylls was on, a new episode, but Nicholas couldn’t concentrate. Despite the heady sensation brought on by the drugs, he felt hyper aware of everything: the cool sheets, the blue of the TV screen, but most of all, Seiji. 

Seiji, the same Seiji who’d perch on his bed motionless and read for hours at a time, didn’t seem able to keep still. His hand played with the sheets, the remote, the comforter, and then rough skin brushed against the back of Nicholas’ arm, and Nicholas flipped his palm over, and Seiji’s calloused fingertips danced over the underside of his wrist, barely brushing the outline of bone. 

Nicholas shivered as those fingers tangled in his own, endlessly sparking what felt like every nerve ending on his hand. _ What are we doing? _

“The next time you’re sick,” Seiji said, “I want you to listen to me.” He dragged his nails down Nicholas’ wrist, harsh and electric, and Nicholas blushed. “I mean it.”

Nicholas closed his eyes, fireflies igniting the places where they touched with a cool, insatiable flame. “I will, Seiji, I swear I will.” 

Seiji’s nails went back to kissing his palm, and he lay back for an endless stretch of time, the TV on in the background, Seiji’s fingers running over him like water. Then the drugs kicked in, and he was falling into the sea, the ocean pouring into the room, rising up and over the bed, over the sheets, over his head, but Seiji sat beside him, holding his hand, and nothing bad could happen when he was around, so Nicholas closed his eyes, lay back, and sank into oblivion without a ripple of struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is for my poor beleaguered partner, who has had to live through me looking up arcane things at 1 AM and also for editing something for a genre approximately 180 degrees from his actual tastes! I love you babe :) 
> 
> This story is also for this fandom. We are small but mighty, and I love interacting with all of you. Can't wait to get new canon in 2020, woot!
> 
> Jack, you might never read this, because we have opposing tastes, but if you do-- Eugene/Jessie is all your fault and I couldn't be happier.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	2. Sea Change

Nicholas had promised to listen to Seiji that night in the hospital, the night Seiji had taken him into his hands, skin to skin, and gentled him like a scared stray, soothing his fears away. And Nicholas tried to keep his promises, even the difficult ones, which made him feel a little better about giving in and going to see the nurse about his headache. It had been annoying feeding Seiji’s ego, but worse was what he had said afterward, how he had said it, with Nicholas snug in his arms, because it made Nicholas think, for a brief second, that it wasn’t totally hopeless, that maybe Seiji could—

But even Nicholas Cox wasn’t dumb enough to believe that in the cold light of day.

The visit itself paid off, though. 

By the time the team met up in the clubhouse the next day, Nicholas could no longer deny it: the Zyrtec had worked. 

The school nurse had been right. By extension, that meant Seiji had been right, a fact which Nicholas was loath to admit. Unfortunately, it was also impossible to hide. He had been coughing and sniffling pretty regularly lately, but today he barely had the hint of a tickle in his throat.

“Feeling any better?” Seiji said innocently, as he picked his way over the log. 

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” said Nicholas, clambering along in his wake, tripping and saving himself from a dunking by the skin of his teeth.

“I’m just asking,” said Seiji, but the creases around his mouth said otherwise. “Too bad they don’t have a drug to help with your atrocious sense of balance.”

“At least my split times aren’t glacial. I’d race you to the house, but we both know you’ll lose.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” said Seiji. 

He lost, just as Nicholas had predicted, but he didn’t seem upset about it. Seiji stood over Nicholas as he lay flopped on the ground, panting and sweating, and got that gleam in his eye that made Nicholas hot under the collar. 

“I won,” Nicholas announced, refusing to be cowed. “Fair and square.”

The edges of Seiji’s mouth creased again. Before Nicholas could move, he was on top of him, pinning him down by the shoulders, and Nicholas bucked and squirmed, but it was too late. 

It had been too late where Seiji was concerned for quite some time.

“Did you?” Seiji murmured in his ear, his nose tickling against Nicholas’ neck before he licked the sweat off his collarbone. “‘To the victor, the spoils.’” He pressed his hips against Nicholas’, and Nicholas sighed as the resistance drained out of him, leaving behind a dangerous lassitude that trickled into his legs and nudged them apart, that hooked his arms around Seiji’s lean shoulders, that tilted his head back to give Seiji free range to bite.

“Seiji,” Nicholas said, as sharp canines closed down on his skin, and he whimpered and writhed and—

There was a knocking coming from inside the house.

“Not that this isn’t entertaining on its own,” said Eugene loudly, “but I do want to watch the movie at some point.”

Seiji gave him a parting nip before letting go, and they both adjusting their pants before making their way into the clubhouse.

Eugene was draped across the couch, and Bobby had the love seat. Seiji took the recliner and Nicholas pushed Eugene’s legs over, plopping down on the dusty cushions and trying to look like he wasn’t desperate for Seiji to fuck him blind.

(He would blame it on Seiji, what happened later. Of course he had gotten turned on by the movie. When he was hard as a rock to begin with, what could you expect?)

It was Eugene’s turn to pick, and he went with _ Skyfall _, to Seiji’s dismay. 

Nicholas didn’t mind; he liked Bond. It wasn’t his favorite, but it was fun. He was surprised at how much he loved this one, though. The backstory was fascinating, the relationship between Bond and M fraught and fragile, and then there was that scene. With Bond tied up and helpless on the chair, and Silva pacing in front of him like a tiger, and the tension ratcheting up and up and up...

When the movie finished, Eugene leaned back onto the couch, presiding over the popcorn. “What’s the verdict?” he asked, tossing some in the air and catching it in his mouth.

Bobby pulled on one of his pigtails thoughtfully. “I loved the part with Q and Bond in the museum,” he said.

“What about when Bond met Silva for the first time?” said Eugene with a cackle.

Nicholas shifted in his seat. “It was kind of hot, right?” he said, right as Bobby was saying: “What a creep.”

Eugene, Bobby, and Seiji stared at him in unison.

“Being tied up by a psycho control freak?” asked Bobby.

“He was a good-looking psycho.” Nicholas felt the scarlet creep over his cheeks. “I can think of worse things,” he said, very much not looking at Seiji.

“Yikes, bro, thanks but no thanks,” said Eugene, laughing. “That’s good to know, though. I’ll be sure to volunteer you next time the sailing team needs to practice their knots.” 

Nicholas brought his knees to his chest, linking his hands across them. “Hilarious, Gene,” he said, grimacing. 

Eugene gave him a side hug. “C’mon, Nicholas, I’m just kidding. Besides,” he nudged Nicholas, saying the rest in a low undertone, “we both know Seiji would murder the entire varsity lineup if they so much as laid a finger on you.”

“We both know I would what?” Seiji asked, brows pinched together, rising to his feet in one fluid movement.

“Cool it, Seiji, I was just explaining to your boyfriend that you’d defend his honor from any potential threats, nothing bad.” 

Nicholas shrunk back into the cushions at the word boyfriend. 

They never called it that. 

_ We never call it anything. And I know why. Because Eugene is wrong, because Seiji doesn’t— _

“Labao,” said Seiji, taking Eugene by the collar and yanking him up, “sometimes I wonder if we’d be better served to have an actual jackass as a captain. It would be more upkeep, but there would be considerably less horseshit.”

Eugene held his hands palm out in apology, gracefully beating a retreat to the abandoned recliner. Seiji sank down beside Nicholas, sliding an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close, curled up against Seiji’s side.

“Bobby,” asked Seiji, “what is that asinine cooking show you love?”

“_The Great British Bake-Off _?” chirped Bobby as he changed the channel, an expression of pure joy on his face.

“Yes,” said Seiji in a long suffering tone, smoothing a hand up and down Nicholas’ arm in a soothing, hypnotic rhythm. “Let’s watch that.”

Eugene groaned, but he was too good natured to protest. While he inhaled the rest of the popcorn and Bobby sat glued to the television, Nicholas closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. As soon as his breathing slowed, Seiji’s arms slotted Nicholas neatly in the warm place between his chin and his chest where Nicholas could hear his heartbeat, and he ached for what Eugene said to be true, but it just wasn’t.

Seiji never talked about it, about them, and Nicholas managed to ignore that for the most part, but now the knowledge burned inside him, unescapable. Seiji never begged, he never pleaded, he never made a fool of himself ten times over like Nicholas did every time they touched.

_ Is he even getting much out of this? _

Maybe Nicholas was just something to do when he wasn’t fencing— a means to relax, to blow off steam. 

But even if Seiji would never date someone like him, if Nicholas was going to be his fuck buddy and that was the best he could hope for, the thought of Seiji screwing him as a way to kill time scraped him from the inside out, leaving him empty and ashamed. 

Movie night officially ended after the season finale of _ The Great British Bake-Off _, and they made their way back to the dorm room in silence. 

As soon as Seiji closed the door, Nicholas spat it out like a hot coal: “Seiji, I was wondering…” He sat abruptly on his bed, curling his knees to his chest again. “I...” he said, and then shut his mouth. 

“Eugene is an idiot,” Seiji said, annoyed. “I’ve told you before, you can’t take the things he says seriously.”

“I’m worried,” said Nicholas.

“About what he said?” asked Seiji, sitting down beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Because--”

“No,” said Nicholas immediately. “About you.”

“You’re worried about me?” Seiji’s eyes were wide, wide like they were the day Nicholas asked him to watch Aiden’s match the first time. “Why?”

“I just, you never, you know…”

Seiji continued staring. “No, I don’t.”

“When we…” Nicholas’ face reached approximately the surface temperature of the sun. “You know…”

Seiji blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Fence?” 

“No!” Nicholas practically howled. “When you’re touching me, alright? When you’re all over me and I can barely string together a coherent sentence, Seiji! We’re both naked, your mouth is at my throat, is any of this ringing a bell?”

Seiji folded his arms together, head tilted to the side, away from him. “You’re not happy?” There was no expression on his face, but the corners of his mouth twitched, once. 

Nicholas gave a choked laugh. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you remember last weekend?” 

The team had stayed at a bed-and-breakfast, and in his excitement over their win Nicholas had forgotten to muffle himself. To his complete humiliation the next morning over waffles, after Nicholas introduced himself, the owner had turned to his roommate. “And you must be Seiji,” he said, giving Nicholas a wink. 

Eugene had laughed for five minutes straight, and Bobby cracked a smile before giving Nicholas a sympathetic look. 

Seiji hadn’t even blushed, damn him. 

“You were very enthusiastic in your appreciation,” Seiji said. His eyes were back on Nicholas, and his mouth had returned to its normal placid line, but when he saw Nicholas was glaring, the creases appeared at the edges. “I’m just being--”

“Honest, I know,” Nicholas said disgustedly. “You’re honestly a complete dickhead. And I want to know how you feel, genius. You hardly say anything about it. Ever.” 

“Oh,” said Seiji. “I see.”

And promptly retreated into his side of the room for the rest of the night.

“What the fuck, Seiji?” Nicholas said as he got ready for bed, punching his pillow. “You still don’t know?”

Seiji glanced up from his laptop. “I told you before,” he said. “I have to think about it.”

Nicholas scrubbed his fingers through his hair and rolled over on his bed, hugging his pillow fiercely. _ How flattering. It must be pretty fucking bad if even Seiji is trying to sugar coat it. _

It took Nicholas forever to fall asleep, and when he did, his dreams were full of Seiji Katayama, his hair ruffled, his fencing jacket unzipped, making out with Alex. When they saw Nicholas was watching, both of them turned away laughing, walking down Yale Campus arm in arm, gorgeous and rich and belonging, in a way that Nicholas Cox never, ever would.

When he woke up, it was 3 AM and his cheeks were wet, and Nicholas didn’t sleep any more that night.

******************************************

The next day was a half day, and most of the class went on a field trip.

Nicholas hadn’t been able to get his mom to sign the permission slip, and Seiji had no interest in going. 

Nicholas had thought about bringing up yesterday, but as soon as he dropped his bag Seiji dragged him into one of his slow, deep kisses, the ones that made Nicholas dizzy, the ones that made it impossible to keep track of time. When Seiji pulled away, Nicholas was lying on his back on the bed, his shirt somewhere on the floor, his pants halfway off, his dick hard and aching. 

_ I should put a stop to this, it’s gone too far, and I know how it’s going to end— _

Seiji was doing something in the closet.

Nicholas leaned forward on his elbows. “Seiji?” he said. 

He was holding something in his hands. When Nicholas squinted, he could barely make out the blue and gold of the King’s Row tie. 

“Since you never learned how to knot one properly, I’ll have to do it for you,” Seiji said. 

For a puzzled moment Nicholas glanced over the edge of the bed, trying to locate his button down. When Seiji pushed him backward, he fell against the mattress, awkward and surprised, his arms akimbo. Seiji grabbed Nicholas’ left hand, then his right, manipulating them until his wrists were crossed and the tie draped around them, silk slipping across his skin smooth and fluid, and then Nicholas realized what was happening.

He glanced up, cheeks smarting, to find Seiji watching him closely, a question in his eyes. 

“I did research,” said Seiji. “About what you talked about, in the movie. If you want me to stop, say ‘Exton.’” Seiji tied him up deliberately slow, his elegant fingers making careful movements as the tie wrapped around Nicholas’ wrists. The whole while, Seiji’s eyes never left his face. 

_ He’s waiting for me to say it. _ Nicholas panted loud enough that it rasped in his ears, as he stared right back in silence. 

After Seiji tied the final knot, he slipped the loop over the bed post, testing the slack on the tie, while Nicholas attempted not to hyperventilate.

Satisfied, Seiji sat back, casually stripping off his own shirt, and when he bent to tug Nicholas’ boxers off, Nicholas’ throat dried up entirely. 

“Seiji,” he blurted out, and Seiji crawled up the bed until he was stretched out besides Nicholas, sleek and slender, his eyes keen as ever.

“I must be crazy,” Nicholas said. He was going to start babbling, he knew he was, but he couldn’t stop, any more than he could stop his hips jerking when Seiji ran a slow, possessive hand down his thigh.

“Why,” Seiji said. His face was close, close enough that Nicholas could see in exceptional detail the wrinkle his nose made as he narrowed his eyes, studying Nicholas like he did in the mornings, when he was trying to find a weakness in his technique.

“To let you,” Nicholas stumbled over the words, “do this. You’re— you’re the best fencer in the country, you--”

“Jesse--” 

“No. Him beating you was a fluke,” Nicholas said, and Seiji’s eyes narrowed further. 

“You— the first time I saw you fence, I mean properly saw you, I knew. I— like I told you on the beach— when you fence it’s like- I can’t even see anyone else.”

Seiji’s chin dropped, his cheeks turning pink. His hand paused, his nails cutting into Nicholas’ quad. “If I’m that great, why are you always bitching about how boring my style is?”

“I’m teasing you, dumbass,” Nicholas said, before he remembered that he was tied up and at the mercy of said dumbass, and what did that make him? 

Seiji moved his hand up higher, dark eyes heavy on Nicholas’, cheeks still flushed. “My turn to tease,” he said, and Nicholas trembled as Seiji’s fingers trailed up to brush against his scar.

“Why is it crazy, to let me--” Seiji pinched the jagged edge there, and this time there was no hiding Nicholas’ moan— “touch you like this? You clearly enjoy it.”

“You’re a champion. I don’t stand a chance against you.”

“We’re not fencing.”

“Your hands,” said Nicholas, and there it was, he could feel his blush overwhelming him, but he could also feel the blood pulsing in his chest, pooling in his hips, driving him crazy. “You bring guys down with a flick of your wrist, the way you work the blade with your fingers, it’s--”

Seiji brought his face closer, until his mouth was a breath away from Nicholas’. “Are you afraid I’ll bring you down?” Seiji said against his lips, and Nicholas yanked on the tie reflexively. It held, and Seiji’s hand spread over his scar, pressing down hot and heavy, his calluses catching the skin. Nicholas bit the inside of his cheek, hard. 

“No,” he lied. 

“What do you want me to do with my hands?” asked Seiji. 

Nicholas closed his eyes. “I want your fingers inside me,” he said raggedly.

Seiji’s hand caught his hip, nails sinking deep into the skin, and Nicholas could feel himself starting to bruise. “Yes,” Seiji said, the word honed with desire till it was knife-edged.

He kissed Nicholas’s throat, right at the underside of his jaw, where his pulse beat hummingbird fast, and then his hand was gone. The bed shifted as Seiji sat back and pulled away, and Nicholas could hear noises then, rummaging and the click of a cap being opened, but he didn’t open his eyes. He was afraid of what Seiji would see in them.

_ I shouldn’t want this so much, I can’t let him realize how much I— _

Then Seiji’s hand rested on his scar, outlining it with butterfly touches. “I know you said fingers,” Seiji said, low and hoarse. “But you’re supposed to start with one,” he finished apologetically, and Nicholas opened his eyes as wide as they could go. Was Seiji blushing again? 

“What?” he said. 

“I did research on this, too,” Seiji said, and he was undeniably blushing, but before Nicholas could say anything more, Seiji traced his fingers down the curve of his ass and they were slick and wet and Nicholas’ legs fell open as his head fell back.

“Okay,” he mumbled, eyes on the ceiling, anything to avoid that penetrating gaze as Seiji’s fingertips brushed featherlight over him, spreading slick warmth, working him open, bit by bit. 

His fingers weren’t harsh. They were refined, smooth and careful and liquid, splaying him open, making him gasp. Soon Seiji’s fingers were stroking something inside him, a place that made Nicholas quiver like he’d been impaled on the sharpest blade imaginable, with an edge ground so fine that there wasn’t any pain, but only an ache that made him clamp down while his breath stuttered out in rapid fire bursts. 

“I can feel your heart beating,” Seiji said shakily. 

_ It belongs to you. Like I belong to you. _

“You were right, before,” Nicholas said. His pulse was pounding in his neck, in his bound up wrists, around Seiji’s fingers, drowning everything in waves of heat. He whimpered, desperate to fill the silence with anything but what he truly longed to say. “I want you in control, I do, I fucking love it, I’ll do whatever you say, whatever you want...” 

“Whatever I want,” growled Seiji, licking a stripe down Nicholas’ abs. He let out a breath from between clenched teeth, flexing his fingers deep inside Nicholas. “I want to hear you. I want to hear _ everything _.” 

“I, I can’t.” Seiji was inside him, touching him, and he couldn’t stop it, and Seiji was whispering what were no doubt the nastiest, filthiest things in French into the soft skin behind his knee, and he couldn’t decide if this was the best thing to happen to him or the worst.

“You can,” said Seiji, curling his fingers wickedly. “And you will, because I want you to.”

Nicholas stared at him, at his dark eyes and where his wrist moved as he knotted his fingers inside him, pushing against the place that made it hard to breathe, and he gave up.

“Yes,” he said, the word making his dick twitch. He stopped even trying to muffle himself after that. He arched his back, pulling his arms taunt against the headboard, and the noises he made when Seiji twined his fingers inside him felt like they were dragged out with hooks, taking out chunks of his insides with them. At some point he must have stopped coming, but time seemed meaningless, and he had no idea how long it had been when Seiji slipped out of him, lowering his legs down to where the rest of him had melted into a puddle on the mattress. 

Seiji wiped his hand on the sheets before climbing over Nicholas, pinning both his wrists down and burying his face in Nicholas’ neck as he came with a hiss, Nicholas laying in a glowing haze beneath him, limp and languid and totally brainless. 

Then Seiji moved above him, as a soft cloth wiped his chest. Steps faded away and there was the noise of a facet, and then he was padding back and the rope loosened, and his wrists fell loose onto the bed, fingers grasping them, pressing into the skin, and he could feel the heat of Seiji’s inspection.

“S’fine,” he slurred. “M’good.”

“How do you feel?”

Nicholas blinked.

“It’s— too much.” Nicholas felt like a battery that had been hooked up to a superconductor. “I mean, it’s not bad, it’s really really good, I can’t explain--” He blushed again. “It’s, I was totally out of control and I--” He stopped, not sure what he wanted to say.

“You asked me,” Seiji said. “You wanted to know how I feel.” He was holding Nicholas’ wrist again, fingers ghosting over it, rubbing the aching skin. “That’s how,” he said. 

“You— but--”

“Every time I touch you,” Seiji said, staring at Nicholas’ wrist with the same laserlike concentration he exhibited during a match. His cheeks were the faintest pink.

“Seiji--”

“Every. Time.” Seiji’s eyes came to rest on Nicholas, and they were as hot and burning as ever. “You don’t need to worry about me. _ Ever _. I’m the one who takes care of you.” He pulled Nicholas onto his chest, burying his hand in his hair. 

Nicholas took a deep breath and let it out, slow, nestling his head onto Seiji’s pyjamas. “Okay,” he said softly, as something that had been wound up tight in his chest all day let out, like a frantically spinning top winding down at last.

And for the rest of the night Nicholas didn’t think of how ill-suited they were together, or the inevitable breakup rushing like a train straight for him, one single time. 

****************************************** 

He and Seiji’s relationship had been marked by division from the beginning. Not even taking into account what Seiji had literally done with their room, marking it into two separate halves, but their fighting styles, their personalities, everything destined to clash, steel against steel. The remarkable thing wasn’t the yawning divide between them, but rather, how they had come together in spite of it. 

Especially how they had come together like this, Seiji naked above him, inside him, touching him, kissing him, setting Nicholas alight and cracking his heart into pieces. 

To figure that out, it was necessary to examine one more division. 

Because for Nicholas, a line split sophomore year clean down the middle, as glaringly obvious as a blue duck curtain: before the Eastern Division and after.

Before, he and Seiji were friends.

And after....

There had been a shift, a seismic one, but not quick like an earthquake. Silent and subtle, quiet and unassuming, like the sea coming in at the beach, slow and steady and before you knew it the water was lapping at your ankles, and you had to move your blanket, or you’d get soaked. 

After what had happened that night in the hospital, after — and Nicholas blushed like mad whenever he thought about it— after he had come within a hair’s breadth of confessing to Seiji how much he liked him, and Seiji had held his hand and watched Bear Grylls with him until he had fallen asleep...

In the weeks that followed, Seiji had been acting, well. He kept… touching Nicholas. They were light touches, a hand on his elbow guiding him away from a crack in the sidewalk, fingers plucking a leaf from his hair while he studied on the quad, nothing out of the ordinary, if it had been any of his other friends. After all, Bobby always had an arm around him, hugging him or tickling him or just leaning on him to watch a movie, and that didn’t mean anything. But. 

But. 

Seiji never touched anyone. Seiji sat after his bouts curled up like a roly poly. He bristled whenever he shook hands with his opponents, with what Nicholas had first mistaken for arrogance but had come to realize was another demonstration of Seiji’s deep-seated shyness.

When they argued now, though, Seiji would look down at him, and the way his eyes snagged on Nicholas’ mouth would make Nicholas hot all over, like he was being filled from his chest to his toes by the king tide of some tropical sea, neck deep and rising, and soon he’d be engulfed. Nicholas would go motionless when it happened, waiting for the waters to close in with a mixture of dread and excitement, but then Seiji would turn away, make some excuse to leave the room, and Nicholas would run his usual three miles across campus and still not get rid of the ache in his chest.

They might have gone on indefinitely that way, the tide forever approaching but never coming in, but for two things: Eugene’s impeccable weed stash, and Bobby’s abuela.

It was a Saturday, the day before the school’s harvest festival. Nicholas had somehow gotten roped into being a part of the kissing booth, and he had gone over to scrounge in Eugene’s room for something to take the edge off. 

The kissing booth was meant to be lighthearted and fun. You bought a ticket for the chance to give the recipient a kiss on the hand or the cheek, depending on what they had specified beforehand, nothing crazy, but there was one thing that made Nicholas’ heart constrict in his chest. The volunteers were meant to wear blindfolds, to make sure they couldn’t see who was doing the kissing, and that wouldn’t have mattered, except that if Nicholas wore a blindfold, he knew he’d be imagining each and every stranger with raven hair and midnight eyes, and Nicholas was so mixed up he didn’t know if he was afraid of that or wanted it badly enough that he could barely stand it. 

Earlier he had been lying on the bed, attempting to study, and Seiji had gone off to meet his father for lunch. Nicholas had been wrapped up in his lit homework, and Seiji had caught his attention by laying his fingers lightly on his wrist, right over his pulse point.

“See you later,” Seiji said as soon as Nicholas looked up, turning to go and lifting his hand away, and Nicholas wished that he had left it there, and that was a thought he did not need to be having, which was how he found himself in Eugene’s room, blowing smoke into a toilet paper tube stuffed with dryer sheets and trying not to cough up a lung.

Whatever was going down with Seiji wasn’t exactly a problem he wanted to share, and after Eugene had passed him the joint and he took a long hit, hacking for a good five minutes, Nicholas was content to listen to Bobby chatter to Eugene about their upcoming match with Exton.

“I’ve been planning out another captain’s meeting for Jesse and I at Winter Fest, just the two of us, one on one,” said Eugene, a lazy smirk on his face. “For the sake of inter-team unity, of course. A princess and a guy like me, what do you think, Bobby?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Bobby said gravely, and for some reason his eyes fell on Nicholas.

“Jesse,” said Nicholas, making a gagging noise which only served to start off another round of hacking. 

“Aw, my bad, Nicholas,” said Eugene, after a vicious flick from Bobby on the ear. “I forgot about that weird vendetta between him and Seiji. Tell you what, though, I have a hunch that won’t be an issue much longer.” He winked, his smirk widening, but before Nicholas could parse out what that cryptic statement meant, Bobby dropped to the floor with a clunk, tugging his backpack over.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” said Bobby in a singsong, his smile getting wobbly like it did when he was well and truly trashed. He dug out his phone from his bag and scrolled through the pictures, his cheeks turning red.

“Ooooooh,” said Eugene, “if this is what I think it is--”

“It is,” said Bobby, cheeks even redder. “But I want to stress that I had no hand in the taking of this picture.”

Eugene smirked. “You certainly didn’t turn it down, though, did you?” 

“I’m only human,” said Bobby.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” asked Nicholas.

Bobby handed him the phone, and Nicholas slid halfway off the couch before he managed to catch himself.

On the screen was a picture of Seiji holding Bailey, just the two of them, the puppy kissing his face, and it was exquisitely, toothrottingly sweet.

“How?!” Nicholas breathed in awe. “How did you get this?!”

“Courtesy of Bobby’s abuela,” Eugene said, kicking Bobby’s side with his bare feet, while Bobby shook his head, cheeks still flushed. 

“This is ideal blackmail material,” Nicholas said. “You should text it to me so I can rub it in Seiji’s face. He’s been such an ass lately.”

“Really?” said Bobby. “I thought you two were getting along much better.” Eugene gave such a cackle at this that he doubled over into a coughing fit of his own, and Bobby whacked him on the arm, his lips pursed in disapproval.

“He won’t stop touching me,” said Nicholas, and that had come out all wrong, hadn’t it? The joint glowed orange in his hand, ash falling to the windowsill and he hurriedly took a drag, passing it off to Eugene. “Nothing bad,” he said. “It’s just, he hugged me out of nowhere yesterday, and it’s… strange, I can’t figure it out, and--”

“God grant me strength,” said Eugene, taking a mammoth hit.

“You think I shouldn’t show him the picture?” asked Nicholas, staring at the ends of his fingers, which had stretched clear to the other side of the room. 

“No, no,” said Eugene. “I think you absolutely _ should _.”

“Gene,” said Bobby, knocking his knee against Eugene’s, but Eugene ignored him. 

“And when you do,” he suggested, “I would tell him it’s ridiculous that he can’t admit how he feels, when it can be seen from fucking space.”

“Exactly.” Nicholas nodded, the words echoing in his head tinny and strange, his arms grown at least five feet. “He loves that puppy. Everyone knows it.”

Eugene tilted his head, inhaling and holding in the smoke for a long moment, then sending it out the window in a smooth, perfect curl. “Fuck yes he loves that puppy,” he said. 

Bobby held up his hand when Eugene offered him a drag, knitting his brows. 

“Nicholas, I think that you should--”

A heavy knocking at the door interrupted the conversation, turning the room into a kicked anthill of activity as Bobby doused the room in Febreeze, Eugene stubbed the joint out and shoved it into the couch cushions, and Nicholas frantically waved the remaining smoke out the window.

There was the sound of a key in the door, and when it swung open, revealing an irritable Seiji Katayama, they let out a collective sigh.

“Nicholas,” said Seiji, a pinched look on his face.

“You knock like the damn gestapo, Katayama.” Eugene dug the joint out again, flicking his lighter.

“Stop behaving like a delinquent, Labao, and you won’t have to jump at every creak in the floor.” Seiji strode over to Nicholas. “And I thought you promised me you’d finish your Latin paper before coming over here and getting stoned?” 

Seiji was intimidating as fuck even when Nicholas wasn’t tripping. High, his eyes were darker than the sea at night, his clean, summer smell overpowering, and Nicholas sank down into the couch, staring at the floor.

“I finished it,” he mumbled.

“Bullshit,” said Seiji, as Eugene snickered in the background. “You’re such a bad liar it’s insulting.” 

“I’m not lying,” said Nicholas, but he still couldn’t meet Seiji’s gaze.

“Nicholas, bro,” said Eugene, hauling him in for a nugie, “you are the worst liar I’ve ever heard, and that’s you sober. Wasted, you’re like a little puppy, with every fucking thought in your head playing out in your face.” Bobby smacked Eugene in the ribs, shaking his head, but Seiji snorted. “He’s not wrong, you know,” he said. 

“Traitor,” said Nicholas. 

“Nicholas follows people around like a puppy dog, too.” Eugene had slung an arm around Nicholas, but he was looking straight at Seiji. “Especially his person,” Eugene said, and Seiji turned to face him, a little wrinkle appearing above his nose. “He’d do anything for them, anything they asked— cuddle with them, cover them in kisses…” 

“My person?” Nicholas said, nudging Eugene’s shoulder, but he didn’t break away from the staring contest he was having with Seiji.

“What are you playing at, Labao?” Seiji asked suspiciously.

“Who said I was playing?” Eugene said, the smile gone from his face, and Seiji cocked his head, studying him intently.

“I don’t have time for this,” Seiji announced to the room at large, taking Nicholas by the wrist. “Come on,” he told him. “I need to talk to you about Paris.”

Seiji marched out, towing Nicholas in his wake. Eugene waved them out, and when Nicholas wagged his eyebrows at the phone meaningfully he gave him a thumbs up, while Bobby watched next to him, pushing his hair behind his ears nervously. 

_ I’ll show Seiji who’s really full of it. _

When Seiji stopped dragging him along, they were on the roof of Castello, and the sun had started to go down. 

“I was talking to my father today, and I know that you’re worried about the cost--” Seiji began, but before he could get started, Nicholas stuck out the phone with the picture pulled up, giving him nowhere to hide. On the tiny screen, Seiji was cradling the puppy on his lap, Bailey licking his nose as Seiji smiled down at him, the creases on either side of his mouth clearly defined. 

It was sickeningly adorable.

When he looked at the picture, Seiji Katayama blushed. He actually blushed.

_ This is even better than I imagined. _

“And you call me a liar,” Nick gloated, not bothering to hide the triumph from his voice.

“I—”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you have a million rationalizations,” Nicholas said. “But the reality is much simpler. You don’t even mind about the mess and the drooling. You love him.”

Seiji opened his mouth, took a breath, and then closed it again, his face a painful scarlet. 

Nicholas couldn’t help but take pity on him. “Hey,” he said, “listen, Seiji-- all he wants to do is play and snuggle, and he’s adorable.” Nicholas nudged him with his elbow. “Who could blame you?”

“It’s not just because he’s cute and friendly,” Seiji said, drawing his arms across his chest and looking at Nicholas defiantly, his shoulders as taut as they were before a match. “He’s also incredibly loyal and kind.” 

“Don’t forget mischievous,” said Nicholas, who was physically incapable of not rising to the bait even when he wasn’t stoned out of his mind. “Annoying, reckless, and a shameless goof.” Nicholas ticked off his fingers as he went down the list, and with each addition Seiji’s shoulders tensed further. 

He wasn’t having any of it. 

“Kind and sincere and good,” Seiji said stiffly, his eyes sliding away from Nicholas’. “An irrepressible, innocent little sweetheart.”

“Well, they do call them man’s best friend for a reason, Seiji,” Nicholas said with a teasing grin, and Seiji’s arms tightened across his chest, as if he was missing the point. “You make him sound better than the rest of the litter put together.”

“That’s because he is.” Seiji’s dark eyes flicked up to meet Nicholas’. “He’s extraordinary.”

“See!” Nicholas exclaimed, poking him in the chest. “I told you. You always have to over-complicate things, and this is the simplest thing in the world.” He grinned up at Seiji, at his midnight eyes and his serious face and his absurd inability to see what was right in front of him. “Of course you love him.”

“Yes,” said Seiji, his gaze unwavering. “Of course I do.”

Nicholas blinked. There was an eerie tension in the air, a charged undercurrent that he couldn’t name, prickling on his skin. The heavy scent of the beach at high tide sank into his lungs, and he felt like he was waiting before the crest of a wave, the moment before it broke. 

_ Gene was right. This is some powerful shit. _

Seiji took a deep breath. “But I wonder how he feels about me,” he said quietly, an odd stillness coming over his face.

“How he feels about you?” Nicholas asked, so taken aback that he forgot his nerves altogether.

_ God, he really doesn’t understand emotions, even from a puppy! _

“He’d be happier with someone charming and affectionate, like Bobby,” Seiji said. “Or someone wild and adventurous, like Eugene. Not someone cold and mean and distant like me.”

“You’re not cold,” Nicholas said indignantly. “Why do you always say that? And you aren’t mean, you’re—you’re direct, and he doesn’t care about that superficial stuff, anyway. That’s nothing but the surface, that imaginary distance that you use to protect yourself. Underneath, you’re passionate and honest and true. 

“He loves you too,” Nicholas said, and if he thought Seiji’s eyes had been deep before, then they were bottomless now. “Just because he can’t say it, doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth.”

Nicholas’ heart was beating too fast again, and the weed was making him more of a klutz than normal. The phone slipped from his nerveless hands, and when he tried to grab it, he stumbled forward, and then slim arms were wrapped around him, and Seiji’s voice was in his ear. 

“Careful,” he said, shifting to fit Nicholas’ face into the crook of his neck. 

“The phone,” Nicholas mumbled against his skin. The dizzy feeling hadn’t faded. Somehow Seiji holding him had made it worse, not better. Nicholas squeezed his arms around Seiji, and Seiji squeezed right back, and that made it worse still, made his heart move sideways in his chest, but Nicholas didn’t mind.

“It’s fine,” said Seiji. “I have it.” 

“You do?” 

“I caught it right in front of you,” Seiji said from above, his words tickling Nicholas’ hair. “How much of that joint did you smoke?” 

“Seiji,” Nicholas began earnestly, “did you know you smell just like the ocean?”

“Put your arms around my neck,” Seiji said, and Nicholas looped them around him obediently. 

“I didn’t know until your birthd--“ 

Seiji scooped him up into his arms, and he lay flush against his chest, and Seiji was carrying him again.

“I’m not sick,” Nicholas said.

“I know,” said Seiji, but he didn’t put him down. “You’re high, and I’m taking you home.”

Nicholas should say no, give Seiji the out. Surely he didn’t want to carry him. But the sky spun above him in a sickening whirl, so he held on tight and breathed in Seiji’s scent and all too soon Seiji was laying him gently on his bed and Nicholas didn’t want him to go, and he was too high to remember why saying that was a bad idea.

“I like it when you touch me,” he said. “It’s my favorite.”

Seiji’s face moved closer as he nudged Nicholas over on the bed. “It’s my favorite too,” he said, his voice hoarse, like it had been that time he got the flu. He might be getting sick, and no, it must be that he was, because he was getting under the covers and lying down next to Nicholas, and Nicholas touched his forehead, resting his fingertips on the soft skin there, but it wasn’t hot. 

Seiji was smiling, the creased smile, and how had Nicholas never noticed he smiled with his eyes?

“I don’t think you can smile with your eyes,” said Seiji. He reached out and cupped Nicholas’ face in his cool, rugged palms, and his eyes were huge and black and darker than the sea on a moonless night. 

“You can so,” Nicholas said stubbornly. “You’re doing it right now.”

“Am I?” Seiji’s nose was brushing against Nicholas’, and the creases by his mouth were even deeper.

“Your hands,” Nicholas said, “should always be on my face.”

Seiji made a humming noise of agreement, running his thumbs under Nicholas’ jaw to brush the sensitive skin of his throat. 

Would the person who bought Nicholas’ ticket for the booth hold his face like that? 

“Why are you frowning?” asked Seiji. 

“I’m worried about tomorrow.”

“About the fair?” 

“About the booth.” Nicholas sighed.

Seiji rubbed his nose against Nicholas’ again. “You don’t need to worry,” he whispered. “I’m taking care of it. You’re up at seven, right?”

“Yeah, but what do you mean, you’re taking care of it? Are you going to fence whoever tries to come in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seiji repeated, and Nicholas decided to let it go. He was too out of it to try and figure out what Seiji was plotting, and besides, there was a more pressing issue that required his full attention. 

Seiji Katayama was right there in front of him, and his eyes were mesmerizing, dark and deep and mysterious and Nicholas wanted to stare into them always. It was no surprise he would fixate on them in the worst way while riding out his high. 

That didn’t confuse him.

What did confuse him was Seiji staring right back, close, very close, close enough to touch noses. 

Close enough to kiss. 

“Did you like when I held your hand at the hospital?” Seiji asked. 

“Yes,” said Nicholas. “It was like-- remember that day at the beach, when I put the aloe on your sunburn? I’ve never felt skin as smooth as yours. ” _ Wait, did I say that out loud? _

“I think about that day endlessly,” said Seiji, his thumbs skimming over the edge of Nicholas’ jaw. “It was the most wonderful birthday I’ve ever had.”

“No way,” said Nicholas with an incredulous smile. “Really? What was the best part? The fair? No, wait, I bet it was body surfing!” 

“No.” Seiji’s fingers stirred in his hair. “It was you,” he said, dark eyes transfixed, breathing something in French, and Nicholas swallowed, his face burning all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Oh,” he said, shaking, his breath rasped in his throat and the dizziness was roaring back, the room was full force spinning, and Seiji’s hand dropped to the base of his skull, holding him firm and steady.

“Stop thinking so much, Nicholas,” said Seiji, “and go to sleep.” 

They didn’t talk anymore after that, just looked and breathed and touched, and the last thing Nicholas remembered before he drifted off was Seiji’s face, those dark, mysterious eyes watching over him, and the tug of slender fingers tangled in his hair.

  
  
  
  


***********************************************

Nicholas woke to an empty bed with sheets that smelled like the sea.

The sunlight was warm where it fell on his cheek, and he sat up, wiping the drool off his chin with the back of his hand. 

He felt tired, the way he usually did after too much pot, and the second he remembered what had happened the night before he sank back onto the pillow with a muffled moan.

_ Waaaaaay too much fucking weed. _

He and Seiji had been talking about Paris, and then about Bailey, and when the joint hit hard and left Nicholas weak in the knees, Seiji had more than humored him, Seiji had carried him again, had held him and petted his head when he got shaky and scared, curled up in bed with his tail between his legs and Seiji must think he was the most pathetic fucking loser in the world. 

When Nicholas thought about how he had shivered when Seiji stroked his face, staring into those midnight eyes like he never wanted to look at anyone else, he was struck by a profound desire to crawl under his bed and never come out. 

Fortunately he had made plans with Bobby and Eugene the night before, or else he might have skulked in the safety of the room the remainder of the day. They came to pry him out around noon, and the trio walked to the park, lying out in the grass and soaking up the fall sunshine and it was going okay right up until they gave Nicholas the third degree.

“What did Seiji want to talk to you about yesterday?” asked Eugene, plucking a blade of grass and flattening it in half lengthways with his fingernails.

“It was nothing,” said Nicholas, his cheeks stinging. 

“Such. A bad. Liar.” Eugene blew through the grass, making a whistling noise. 

“Gene,” Bobby said warningly from his perch on the swings, and then Nicholas blurted it out: “I showed him the picture. The picture with Bailey.”

Bobby dug his heels in the sand, slowing his momentum as Eugene’s smile turned smaller and more serious. “What happened?” 

“He said it,” said Nicholas bluntly. “I had to pry it out of him, and it was like torture, but he said it.”

“Hold up,” said Eugene. “Do what now?”

“He admitted it,” said Nicholas, and Bobby’s feet came down and he stepped out of the swing, while beside him Eugene tossed the improvised whistle aside with wide eyes. “You know. How he really feels.”

“About the puppy,” said Eugene slowly.

“Yes, and you were wrong, Eugene. It wasn’t funny. It was awkward as hell, and then I got light-headed,” Nicholas said with a wince, “and he carried me back to the room, and--”

Bobby and Eugene exchanged a glance.

“And?” Eugene said, after a minor eternity.

“I made a fool of myself,” Nicholas said in a small voice. “I was staring at him, and how I--the way I-- it was obvious-- and I even brought up the kissing booth. At least I managed not to ask him to come,” he finished forlornly.

“Wait wait wait,” Eugene said, while Bobby dropped down cross legged next to Nicholas. “Back up. Did he say he would?”

“No,” said Nicholas. “He promised me that he would handle it.”

“What exactly did he say?” Bobby asked, linking his pinky with Nicholas’.

“It doesn’t matter. I feel like shit. I’m not going.”

Eugene and Bobby exchanged another long glance, and then Eugene clapped him on the shoulder. “Not an option, bro.”

Bobby tugged on his pinky. “You promised Coach you’d do it,” he said.

Nicholas hung his head, sinking a hand into the ground and pulling up a handful of grass. “I did, didn’t I?” He started folding a makeshift whistle of his own, and then stopped. “Maybe one of you could pinch hit for me?”

“That’s gonna be a no go, cowboy,” said Eugene. “The drama queen I have my eye on doesn’t take kindly to being second place in anything. He’d bolt at the hint of a rumor of me with someone else, even something as harmless as this.”

“I don’t think Dante would be alright with it,” said Bobby apologetically, giving Nicholas a hug. 

Eugene took Nicholas by the shoulders. “I get that you’re nervous,” he said. “But I promise, Bobby and I will be there if you need us. If you feel this way after the first kiss, just duck out then. Coach’ll understand. Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t go. ”

“You really think I will?” 

“Yes,” Eugene and Bobby said in unison, and Nicholas slouched onto the grass. 

“Fine,” he said dejectedly. “But you both owe me pizza if you’re wrong.”

“Deal,” said Eugene. “But we aren’t.” 

Bobby let go of his hand, checking his watch. “It’s getting close to dinner,” he said. “We should start heading back, unless you guys wanna get food off campus?” 

“Nah.” Nicholas stood up, brushing the leaves off his jeans. “Let’s go,” he said, pretending like he hadn’t lost what little appetite he had at the thought of tonight.

Seiji wasn’t at dinner, and he wasn’t in the room when Nicholas got back either.

Nicholas picked out his outfit, taking far longer than a simple green shirt and his old black jeans warranted, and then he hit the showers and got dressed and it was time to go and he wanted to throw up again. 

Winter Fest was everywhere on campus, posted signs pointing the way to a gingerbread house competition in B wing (Bobby’s brainchild, naturally), or karaoke in the cafeteria, but Nicholas passed them by, dragging his heels the closer he got to the gym.

The lights were dimmed inside, decorated with holly and evergreen and hanging glass icicles. Bobby and the planning committee had done a great job, and Nicholas closed his eyes and took a deep breath and walked through the double doors quick, before he lost his nerve.

The kissing booth was at the far side of the gym, and he kept getting stopped by people joking around that they might have to get a ticket and asking him what time he was up. Nicholas smiled and nodded and everything was a blur until all at once he was standing in front of a bright red and white striped awning in front of the supply closet. 

One of the lacrosse team members manned the booth, a friend of Eugene’s, and Sam handed the blindfold to Nicholas with a smile. “Good for you, Cox,” he said. “There is no way in hell I’d be talked into this shit. Mad respect.” He held out his fist for a commiserating bump. “Remember though, I’m right here if someone tries something uncool.” Sam flexed, surveying the state of his biceps with a nod of satisfaction. “I got your back. You’re on in 10, but you can go in there now if you want, get yourself settled.”

Nicholas gave a weak smile. “Thanks, man.” He took another deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing past the curtain that they had draped over entrance to the supply room.

He and Seiji had fought here last year, knocking over balls and fencing gear and brooms while they rolled around on the floor in a scrappy, punching heap. Looking at the space now, he’d never have recognized it as the same place. It had been completely transformed. The planning committee had created a makeshift room within a room using the bamboo dividers Kally had gotten from his moms for Christmas last year, covered in curtains like the door to block out the shelves of supplies. By the back wall of the room proper there was a love seat (which Nicholas had zero intention of sitting on) with a night light next to it, filling the room with a golden glow. Someone had burned incense recently, and although it still smelled like rubber and Pine Sol underneath, the overall effect was impressive.

At least he would have a chance to--

“Hey Nicholas,” Sam called out. “Heads up, it’s about time. Good luck!”

_ How has it already been ten minutes? _

Nicholas took one last look around the room, and then he tied the blindfold around his eyes, curling his arms around himself. Not being able to see was scary; he couldn’t put his guard up, and he didn’t even know what he was guarding against, and Nicholas hugged himself tighter, and then he heard footsteps, and the curtain parted, and it was finally time.

There was a long moment when nothing happened. No movement, no sound, and if Nicholas hadn’t been able to hear the shallow rasp of breathing, he would have thought he was still alone. 

_ Maybe they’re shy. _

“You,” Nicholas licked his lips, forcing his arms by his side. “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to, I --

The footsteps came closer, and then his breath catch in his chest as fingers found his cheek, tracing along its edge, curving around his face. “I don’t expect…” he said, and the stranger brushed a finger across his lips to silence him. With his eyes closed, he could feel everything, and the brush of calluses on his jaw made him relax into the touch without thinking. 

The hand stilled, along with Nicholas’ breathing. 

A puff of warmth on his skin was the only warning he got before a fluster of kisses trailed along his cheekbone, open mouthed and tender, while fingers worked through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead.

Once the kisses reached his nose, the stranger placed a final one there, on the very tip, and stopped. 

Nicholas sighed, his breath mingling with the stranger’s, his lips tingling. 

“Don’t go,” he said, not even sure what he was saying, and then fingers were pulling at the blindfold, pulling it off... and he was looking into wide, dark eyes punctuated with a single, graceful mole, into Seiji’s face scarcely an inch away.

“I’m here to rescue you,” Seiji said, his gaze serious as ever. If it was a joke he was playing, he was playing it to the hilt. 

“Seiji,” Nicholas said, his heart hammering so fiercely he felt like it might fall out of his chest. “I--” 

The word hung in the air, suspended like his breath, like his heart. 

Seiji pressed a hand against his cheek. “You don’t need to say anything,” he murmured, his voice deeper than normal, absent any thorny edges. He whispered something in French then, purring the word in his throat, and Nicholas’ thoughts scattered like a blown dandelion as Seiji bent down to kiss him. 

Seiji accidentally clashed their noses together, and breathed an apology, his hands tilting Nicholas’ head, changing the angle, and he kissed too hard, like he couldn’t control himself, and it was awkward and clumsy and Nicholas never wanted him to stop. He clutched the back of Seiji’s shirt for dear life, knotting his fingers in the cotton, and Seiji leaned back in his arms, sliding his fingers through Nicholas’ hair. 

_ This must be a dream. _

“Your lips are so soft,” Seiji said breathlessly, staring at Nicholas’ mouth like he was in a trance. Nicholas felt drunk, blood running hot as lava in his veins, turning him slow and confused, not to mention near catatonic with embarrassment. That ridiculous smile of his started coming up like it always did when he was anxious, and Seiji traced it with his fingers before kissing down his cheekbones again, chasing the lines on either side, and Nicholas realized when he had kissed him before he had been following along that same path.

“Your smile,” said Seiji, as though the words were stuck in his throat.

Nicholas winced. “Yeah, I don’t know why I--”

“You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.” 

This kiss was better, pressing them together again but not too hard and Seiji’s hand was on Nicholas’ hip, his thumb against the scar, and when Nicholas gasped Seiji licked his way inside and Nicholas could taste him, that tea he liked mixed with an underlying salty bite that belonged to Seiji alone, and his best friend was making out with him and Nicholas was viciously hard, and they hadn’t even-- 

The entire room shrieked, and Nicholas jerked back, hitting his head on the brick wall. 

The shrill screaming cut into his ears, dumping a surge of adrenaline into his heart, and Nicholas was amped enough to begin with that when the second smoke detector in the gym kicked in he nearly jumped out of his own skin, tripping over his feet before Seiji caught him in his arms. “Shit, we should--”

“No,” said Seiji softly, tightening his hold around Nicholas. “Eugene is playing a prank, he warned me about it earlier. It’s not for real.” He rubbed his nose against Nicholas’ temple, dropping down to kiss his cheek again. “We can stay here.”

The sound of the doors opening and closing and the chatter of students rang through the gym, and when they were gone, they left the emptiness behind echoing with their departure.

_ Here with you. Alone. _

When Nicholas moved to press his lips against Seiji’s, a shy, barely there kiss, Seiji’s hand clamped down on his hip, and Nicholas cried out sharply.

Seiji pulled back, breath hot on Nicholas’ mouth, and his stare burned Nicholas even muted by the twilight.

“It’s not you,” Nicholas said, his cheeks stinging. “It’s-- it’s the scar,” he muttered, ducking his head down, the alarm still ringing in his ears. 

“I hurt you,” Seiji said, his hands shaking as the little wrinkle appeared above his nose. 

“No,” said Nicholas quickly, “it didn’t hurt, it’s just sensitive, you could--”

Seiji tilted his head as Nicholas turned even redder.

“You could do it again,” he said, staring down at Seiji’s hand. “If you wanted.”

Seiji gave a long, liquid hiss, and it was cold in the gym, freezing, it must be, that’s why goosebumps were prickling down his arms as Seiji sank to his knees in the darkness, lifting up the edge of his t-shirt.

The pale pink skin around the scar was hypersensitive, and when sandpaper hands traced around the edge, he stifled another gasp. The stitches had left silvery raised slashes behind, marking up his skin like barbed wire, disgusting, and Nicholas didn’t understand why anyone would want--

A soothing tongue outlined his scar, kissing him as Seiji holding his hips steady, and Nicholas cursed, his fingernails scraping the brick, exquisitely aware of how each lick pushed against the skin stretched over his insides like tissue paper. If Seiji wanted to hurt him, he could. 

He could do whatever he wanted. 

A wave of heat rushed over Nicholas, like he had opened the door of an oven, and his knees wobbled. He slid down the wall, winding up mostly on the floor, braced up on his elbows with Seiji’s long lean body draped over him, head dipping down to place more kisses on his belly, hands firm on Nicholas’ hips, and Nicholas’ jeans were so tight they hurt.

“Seiji,” Nicholas said, and the alarm cut off then, and it was quiet and he could hear the way his breath caught in his chest when he touched his hand to Seiji’s, pushing it down the crotch of his jeans. “_Please… _”

When Seiji cupped him, Nicholas’ head hit the wall again as he arched into the touch, and Seiji pushed down hard with the heel of his hand, staring at Nicholas with dark, hungry eyes. “When you had on that fucking eyeliner for your date,” he said, “and you were smiling and saying those things to me like I wasn’t a freakish prodigy, but someone boys asked out…” Seiji pressed his face against Nicholas’ hip, taking a deep breath through his nose, scenting his skin. “This is what I wanted to do to you, little heartbreaker.” He brushed his lips down Nicholas’ stomach, kissing the scar again while he worked at Nicholas’ jeans. “You naked underneath me was all I could think about that whole night.”

Seiji stuck those slender fingers down his pants, sliding them under his boxers, and then he had Nicholas in the palm of his hand and completely at his mercy, and Nicholas whined loud enough, even with his jaw clamped shut, that he was sure the whole school must have heard it.

Seiji didn’t seem concerned. He took Nicholas’ wrist, placing his hand on the nape of his neck, and bent his head low before Nicholas could summon the brain cells to respond. “You don’t need to hide how you feel. You don’t need to hide anything from me,” Seiji said, tone firm as his grip as he tugged Nicholas out of his boxers. 

And then Seiji kissed him there, mouthing the aching skin, his thumb burrowed into Nicholas’ side, rubbing against the crest of scar tissue, and that time Nicholas brought his hand to his mouth too late, and the strangled noise he made echoed through the closet, inescapable. “Yes,” Seiji said, his breath cool on the wet skin, “like that, Nicholas, just like that.” He licked his way to the tip and sucked, thumb still digging into the scar, and Nicholas couldn’t keep track of the noises he made any more, only of those hands, playing over his tight belly, only that tongue, which Seiji usually wielded as coldly and mercilessly as his sword, moving over him like heated silk. 

Seiji fought like liquid fire, passionate and brilliant, molten and unstoppable, and he fucked the same way, like lives were on the line, like the gold medal was his to lose, and Nicholas didn’t stand a chance.

“Your _ mouth_,” Nicholas said helplessly, after a horrifyingly brief amount of time, and it sounded like a prayer, or an epiphany. Whatever it was, when he came it felt like someone had socked him in the nuts.

Seiji didn’t stop sucking until Nicholas dropped to the floor completely, quivering like his strings were cut. Then Seiji licked him clean, while Nicholas braced his hands against shoulders that shifted under his fingers, hard as steel.

When his brain came back online, Nicholas glanced up at Seiji, who was nosing the skin of his inner thighs in between licks. “Do you-- I mean, do you need me to--” he stammered, his face going pink again, and Seiji crouched forward, pressing him into the carpet in one fluid motion. 

“Yes,” he said, wire taunt, his face buried in Nicholas’ hair. Seiji’s hands covered his own, placing one at the nape of his neck again and shoving one under his briefs. When Nicholas touched him Seiji let out a long exhale through his teeth, like he was in pain, and his hand pressed down on Nicholas’ convulsively, with enough force that Nicholas was afraid he might hurt him.

Seiji tugged his briefs down and moved against him, a shuddering thrust, his ragged breathing deafening in Nicholas’ ear. “Can I bite you?”

Nicholas bared his throat without thinking, his other hand pressing Seiji into his jugular, whispering “Please,” and Seiji gave a snarl from deep in his chest and sank his teeth in, thrusting under Nicholas’ hand, dripping hot and sticky onto his belly, smearing it onto his skin.

After he was done, Seiji twined around him, planting kisses into Nicholas’ neck, their abs pressed together, dirty and sweet, like he couldn’t stand to be apart for even a moment. Nicholas had to stink after sweating like crazy when the nerves struck him earlier, but Seiji took in long, slow breaths and let them out against Nicholas’ throat, chasing away his goosebumps with more licks, like he couldn’t care less. 

_ What the fuck happens now? _

A crashing noise came from outside, followed by far-off laughter, and Seiji rolled off him, getting to his feet and pulling on his pants in one effortless sequence of movements. Nicholas wriggled into his jeans, his heartbeat ringing in his ears, and he stepped on one of the legs wrong and tripped, landing half dressed in Seiji’s lap.

Seiji shook underneath him, and for a terrifying moment Nicholas thought he was hurt. He was making a faint huffing sound, like he was in pain, and then Nicholas realized what it was.

Seiji was _ laughing_.

“Need me to carry you again?” he asked, pulling Nicholas entirely into his lap. “I don’t mind.” He wrapped both arms around him firmly. “But you might want to finish getting dressed first.”

“I’m not done with the booth,” said Nicholas, rubbing his cheeks wildly in a failed attempt to stop blushing. _ Guess it doesn’t really matter since the fire alarm went off, but still... _

“I bought every single one of your tickets,” Seiji said. “We can leave whenever you want.” He hugged Nicholas tighter, kissing the edge of his jaw, and Nicholas shivered. 

“OK,” he said.

“One last thing.” Seiji’s fingers were still in his hair, and they held him close as Seiji bent his head again, pressing his lips against Nicholas’ with the finality of gravity. 

When Seiji broke the kiss, they looked at each other panting, Nicholas still shivering a little. Nicholas rolled off of Seiji and stood up, taking a corner of the curtain and wiping off his stomach with it while Seiji gagged in disgust.

“Well, what did you use, then?” grumbled Nicholas as he struggled into his shirt.

“I have a handkerchief,” Seiji said, as he watched him, the sides of his mouth creased.

“What, is it next to your pocket watch?”

Seiji huffed another laugh. “Come on, let’s go back to the dorm,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down Nicholas’ arms. “It’s freezing in here.” He took off his scarf and tied it around Nicholas’ neck, grabbing him by the wrist and leading him through the darkened gym, fingers warm on his skin, and Nicholas hadn’t been shivering because he was cold, but there was no way in hell he was telling Seiji that, so he snuggled into the scarf and trailed behind him. 

The majority of the student body were milling outside, distracted and grumpy and frozen, and no one seemed to notice them, except for Eugene, who did a double take at the scarf and gave Nicholas a sly grin. “How was the booth?” he asked. “I hope the sirens didn’t ruin the atmosphere.”

“I forget how that’s your business, Labao,” said Seiji calmly, “but it was fine.” Seiji slid his hand down and tangled his fingers in Nicholas’. “Whatever happened with Exton?” he asked. “I thought they were coming.”

Eugene rucked up his hair in the back, and to Nicholas’ astonishment, his neck turned the tiniest bit pink. “Jess couldn’t make it.”

“_Jess_?!” said Nicholas, but they both ignored him. 

“He can be self-involved to an extreme degree,” said Seiji, giving Eugene an awkward pat on the shoulder. 

“I know,” said Eugene, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think he was blowing me off though, it was something to do with his mom.”

“Hmmm,” said Seiji disapprovingly, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“What’s up?” Nicholas asked, yanking nervously at the scarf, but Eugene immediately smiled. “It’s all good, little bro,” he said. “I have four younger siblings. I can handle some trouble, no problem.”

“Wait, but--” Nicholas said, but Eugene shook his head and waved them on, and Seiji was even less patient than usual, practically dragging him down the field. 

Nicholas would have to remember to quiz Eugene about it later. 

They got to the dorm in record time, and Seiji stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

“We passed the showers on the way,” said Nicholas. “Why didn’t you just go then?”

“I wanted to walk you back to our room.”

Nicholas fiddled with the dorm key, his cheeks flaring with heat. “I think I can manage getting from the bathrooms to our room in one piece.”

“Can you?” Seiji asked quietly. “You didn’t seem to mind my help yesterday.”

“That-- I--” Seiji was sliding his arms around him again, and it was very distracting, and then he was bending over and kissing him, slow and thorough and so fucking good, and Nicholas stumbled backwards into the room and Seiji let go of him with one last kiss on the nose. “I’ll be quick,” he said again, and the door shut with a click before Nicholas could catch his breath.

After he flicked on the light, Nicholas staggered over to his bed and sat down, hard. He tugged his pants off and dropped them on the floor, but when his hands reached up to his shirt he paused, sinking his fingers in the scarf. Seiji’s scarf was lush, not scratchy like Nicholas’ Old Navy one, and when he unwound it from his neck and looked at the tag, the label was French. He took it off with a sigh, folding it carefully and setting it on Seiji’s bed. 

Most everything Nicholas had experience with were hookups, with one unfortunate exception. When he was dating Alex, the relationship had been fast and furious, with Alex all over Nicholas that first few weeks, kissing him and flattering him, whispering pretty lies into his ear about how much he adored him, building their relationship up as this amazing fantasy, which of course was all it turned out to be once Alex got bored with the novelty of fucking the poor kid. 

Nicholas could still remember when he made the mistake of talking about his family. 

“Your own father’s never met you?” Alex had said, his lips curled up like he had bitten into something rotten, and 5’ 11’’ wasn’t short, but Nicholas swore he lost a good three inches at that moment.

_ Why did I ever think that was going to work? _

Nicholas swallowed hard, thinking of New Haven and koi ponds, of summers in Paris and subtle smiles and elegant fingers holding his own. Seiji had always said how trivial he found dating; even if Nicholas wasn’t woefully outclassed, there was no hope for anything between them. Nicholas resolutely disregarded the way that made his ribcage shrink, shaking it like he’d learned to shake off the questions about his absent dad, or how Alex had laughed when Nicholas had asked him if they were broken up (“Oh, God,” he’d said. “You were never my boyfriend, Nick. You actually thought I’d get serious with someone like you?”).

Being rejected sucked, but it was nothing new. The important thing was to make the best of the situation, and that was something Nicholas had always been good at. 

Obviously this was a hookup, but the question was, what kind? 

Hit it and forget it?

If Nicholas was smart, he’d be hoping for that outcome. That was the best. They’d worked out the charge that had been building up between them, and they could go back to being friends, no harm, no foul.

Nicholas licked his lips, falling backwards onto the bed, his hand creeping under his shirt. When his fingers found the scar, he closed his eyes. 

The other option was more complicated. Friends with benefits. 

That scenario had infinitely more potential to blow up in his face, but that had never stopped Nicholas before. If there was a chance in hell that Seiji would even remotely entertain the notion… that was the biggest issue. Honestly Nicholas doubted it, which was seriously depressing as that ten minutes in the closet had been the best sex he’d ever had.

“How is it?” Seiji asked. 

Nicholas yelped, jerking his hand away like he’d been burned. His best friend stood over him, hair still wet and spiky from the shower, wearing those buttoned up pyjamas of his and smelling like the sea, and Nicholas felt his usual recklessness come back tenfold. 

“You kissed it all better,” he said daringly, expecting Seiji to blush, or demure, or even totally ignore him, but Seiji hopped on top of him, his elbows on either side of Nicholas.

“Want me to do it again?” he asked. 

While Nicholas watched, speechless and pink, Seiji took the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, and started working his way down, slower than before, taking his time.

_ I just, I won’t beg. That’s a line I won’t cross, no matter what. _

Seiji spent a lifetime kissing his abs, tongue tracing along his ribs, dark eyes staring down at Nicholas flat on his back in bed. And it had been good before, amazing even, but the bizarre setting made it seem like a fever dream, burning up Nicholas from the inside out, but totally not transferable to reality.

But this was Seiji Katayama crouched over him in their room, sleeves on his pajamas rolled up so he could touch more of Nicholas, hellbent on tasting whatever he could reach, his raven hair mussed up from the shower, his tongue hot and sweet and everywhere. 

When Nicholas gave a particularly loud gasp Seiji sat up and stared at him for a long moment, before bending over to bite him, slow and tender, on the underside of his throat. “I told you,” he said softly, “you don’t have to hide anything from me.”

After he had marked up Nicholas good and proper, he continued his lazy descent, lapping at Nicholas’ hips, careful not to touch any lower, and Nicholas tangled his fingers in the sheets and groaned and groaned and groaned.

“Seiji,” he said at last, trembling, “oh, Seiji, _ please…"_

It sounded like the worst kind of porn, breathy and husky and desperate, and Seiji froze.

_ Fucking humiliating. _

Seiji tugged his boxers off, and Seiji’s hand reached up, fingers twined around his, and Seiji took a deep breath then, and then he was going down on... he was sucking-- and it was deep, deeper than before and -- and he coughed, gagging a little but then he went right back to it and Seiji Katayama was going down on him in his bed, and Nicholas tried to hold out, he honest to God did, but Seiji still had a hand on his hip, on the scar, and he ran his fingers down it and Nicholas made a loud grunt and came in one shocking pulse, and to make things extra horrible his brain decided it would be a good idea to say Seiji’s name one last time, drawn out and stuttered, in case there was any doubt as to how much he was enjoying being fucked by him in particular.

So much for plausible deniability. Nicholas dropped his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes, feeling like elastic that had been stretched to the breaking point and then released.

It much longer for his brain to reboot this time, and it came back in stages.

First there was a firm hand on his hip, resting on the scar, which led up to a sleek forearm draped across his chest, where Seiji lay beside him, cheeks shaded pink, eyes wide and dark and hypnotic, mesmerized by whatever he saw in Nicholas’ face.

“You need me to, ah, you know,” Nicholas said incoherently, and bit his lip.

Seiji arched an eyebrow, fingers squeezing Nicholas’ hip. “I don’t have quite the recovery time that you do, little heartbreaker,” he said.

Seiji was still fully dressed, he realized, and Nicholas felt his face turn red. “Yeah, well.” Suddenly Nicholas was very conscious of how naked he was. He tried to tug the blanket away from Seiji, who held it in an inexplicably iron grip.

Giving up on the fleece, he went for his shirt, but before he could grab it Seiji threw it off the bed. “What the hell, Seiji?”

“You little heathen,” Seiji said. “That’s a clean shirt. And you most certainly need to shower before you make this bed even more filthy than it normally is.” He started pulling the sheets out from under Nicholas, inching him closer to the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not going down the hall naked,” Nicholas hissed, yanking back on the sheet. 

“You can use my bathrobe, I need to wash it, anyway.” Seiji jerked back on the sheet. nearly landing Nicholas on the floor.

“Ugh, fine,” said Nicholas, letting go of the sheets with disgust. When he put on the plush robe, more luxurious than anything he had ever owned, he pretended not to see Seiji’s victorious look, which quickly changed to an outraged one when Nicholas bent over and threw a dirty sock at him.

“You are utterly vile sometimes,” Seiji said, shrinking away like it was a pit viper, and Nicholas nodded, satisfied, before heading off to the bathroom.

He was never one to linger in the shower, and especially not tonight. Nicholas was tender enough that even the lukewarm water made him twitch, and he made the most half-ass effort to get clean, rubbing the towel over his wet hair furiously, and slinking back into the room with the bathrobe on. 

When he opened the door, the lights were off, except for his night light. Nicholas got out his boxers and tank top slowly, afraid that Seiji might already be asleep.

He crept to his bed, and of course he dropped his phone and when he tried to catch it he knocked over a glass of water on his dresser and it spilled all over the floor and--

There was a pained growl from across the room.

“_Hurry up would you_,” Seiji said. “We both have practice tomorrow, remember?” He gave an aggrieved sigh. “You can bring the damn light over here, OK?”

_ Bring my… _

Nicholas stared across the room at where Seiji had turned down his covers. He was in bed, but he hadn’t pulled them up yet, and he was looking at Nicholas with the most disgruntled expression, his hair in his face, and he wanted Nicholas to sleep in his bed, with him, and Nicholas took a running leap and hit the mattress so hard Seiji bounced up a good two inches, giving a grunt of surprise.

“I don’t need the nightlight,” Nicholas said, pulling the quilt up to his chin before Seiji could change his mind.

Seiji harrumphed. “If you say so,” he said, bringing his arms around Nicholas and tugging him over until he was centered on Seiji’s chest. His sheets were fresh and clean, no crumbs, and Seiji smelled incredible, like salt and ocean, and his hand was running up and down Nicholas’ back underneath his tank top and he could feel the heat scalding his cheeks.

_ How am I more embarrassed about this than when he had his mouth on my dick? _

“If you wake up in the middle of the night,” Seiji mumbled, yawning, “and you need it, I don’t mind.” His hand sank into Nicholas’ hair, holding the back of his head steady, and Nicholas pressed his face into Seiji’s side and tried to forget the countless reasons why this was a terrible idea. 

***************************************

That had been how it began, and Nicholas knew how it would end. 

How much would he let Seiji under his guard in the meantime? 

Nicholas had already gone further than he’d meant to, and as of last night, things weren’t looking too great. 

Getting tied up at Seiji’s hands had been exquisite torture, no mistake about it, but then Nicholas remembered how those fingers slipped in, how they left him tender and aching as they took him apart piece by piece, slow and thorough and fucking hell he was popping a boner in Geometry for the third time this week.

Nicholas casually slid his textbook in his lap, praying not to be called up to solve anything and shifting in his seat as the hardback dug into his dick.

_ God dammit. _

When the bell rang Nicholas had managed to get the situation under control, and he shrugged on his backpack and headed for lunch, where his unwitting tormentor sat, a book open before him.

When Nicholas got closer, he could read the page Seiji was on, and groaned.

“Not this again,” he said.

Seiji looked up from where he was highlighting phrases under the chapter titled _ Travel: General Vocabulary and Expressions _. “In Paris you’d need to know at least some of these, in case we got separated,” he said, sticking a tiny green post-it on the top of the page. “I flagged the chapters I thought would be most useful.”

Nicholas shook his head. “It’s not happening,” he said.

“It could,” said Seiji. “I found a grant that might be applicable this morning. Check your email.” He put the cap back on his highlighter, closing the book and sliding it across the table to Nicholas. 

“Uh-huh,” said Nicholas skeptically, flipping through the book. Seiji had marked up the chapters on _ Greetings and Everyday Expressions _ and _ Mealtimes _ , sticking not one but two posts-its on the page for _ Health and Well-Being _, but when Nicholas got to the end of the book, he got a fluttery feeling in his stomach. 

The last page Seiji had highlighted was in the chapter called_ Idiomatic Expressions and Slang _ , under the subheading of _ Relationships _:

> _The French are known for being one of the most romantic cultures in the world, but what does that mean in practice? It is a common custom in France to give one’s lover a variety of nicknames, ranging the gamut from silly, with Mon caneton (“My duckling”), to sweet, with Mon chou (quite literally a type of French pastry). Below are some traditional nicknames and their appropriate usages. _

Seiji had highlighted the entire opening paragraph. Below were two additional highlights:

> « _Mon petit loup_. » Lit. My little wolf, but when said to a lover it is understood to
> 
> mean ‘My darling’.
> 
> « _ Mon coeur_. » My heart. Not to be bandied about lightly, this classic term of 
> 
> endearment should be reserved for only those most special of 
> 
> loves, the ones that last a lifetime. 

“Hey guys,” said Eugene, dropping his tray down by Nicholas. “Whatcha looking at?”

Nicholas slammed the book shut, stuffing it in his book bag. “Nothing,” he said.

Eugene laughed. “Paris again, huh Seiji?”

Seiji jabbed a fork into his meatloaf. “There’s no harm in being prepared,” he said sourly, his cheeks the faintest pink.

_ Huh_.

“I agree with Seiji,” Bobby chirped, sitting down across from Nicholas. “Who wouldn’t want to go to France? It’s the most romantic place in the world. Dante is talking about going there after graduation. I might need to borrow that book from you, Nicholas.” He heaved a sigh, looking dreamily up at the ceiling, sitting up with a start as his phone buzzed. 

“Dante,” Bobby said, still with the lovesick smile, and glanced at the screen. “Hey, are you guys going to the party tonight? He wants to know if he should pick up extra pizza.”

“Hell yes,” said Eugene. “Exton’s there, I’m there.”

“You never give up, do you?” asked Seiji.

“Who, _ moi_?” Eugene gave an easy shrug. “I could say the same for you, _ mon ami_.” Seiji narrowed his eyes at that, but held his tongue.

“Seiji, what about you?” asked Bobby.

“You aren’t going to ask me?” Nicholas drew his mouth down in a pretend pout. “I see how it is.”

Bobby giggled. “If Seiji goes, then you’ll go too,” he said.

“Not necessarily,” said Nicholas, his fake pout turning into a real one. 

“Right,” drawled Eugene. “Anyways, Seiji, should we expect you two at this soiree or not?”

“Where is it,” Seiji grumbled. 

“Lacrosse is hosting at Ian’s older brother’s place in town, Sam said it should be fan-fucking-tastic, and you know they always have good booze. Even that imported stuff you like, what’s it called?”

“_Tecate_,” said Nicholas, swiveling in his seat to aim a stare at Seiji. “You drank without me?”

“I’m allowed to do things without you.” Seiji scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “Besides, you weren’t here,” he said grumpily. “You were at Bobby’s that weekend.”

“Well, that just means you owe him one,” said Eugene, leaning back in his chair with a pleased grin. 

“I’d said so,” echoed Bobby, and Seiji’s scowl deepened. 

“That’s patently false logic,” he said, but before he could get on a roll Nicholas stopped him with a touch on the wrist.

“I’ll look at the book if you go,” he said, and that’s how the Kings’ Row Fencing Team ended up crashing the biggest party of the year.

Eugene had been giddy all night, because Sam had been right-- Exton was there, and, more importantly where Eugene was concerned, _ Jess _ was there, prissy and predictable in his fashionably worn jeans and tight white polo, ripe and ready to be messed with. 

There was supposed to be a fire pit and s’mores, and Bobby and Dante were in the middle of setting up the logs when it happened. 

Seiji had already had four _ Tecates_, and was on the hunt for the fifth, and Nicholas left him to check on Eugene and make sure Jesse hadn’t murdered him yet.

He bumped into a tall redhead on the porch, who gave him an appreciative up and down as he apologized. “No harm, no foul, baby,” he said, quirking an eyebrow, and something about his smile made Nicholas queasy, but he smiled back and jogged down the stairs, before the guy could say anything more.

Sam had last seen Eugene headed outside, by the lake, and when Nicholas got close he saw them there, Jesse’s tall form facing off against Eugene’s sturdy one, his blond hair shining in the moonlight like a beacon. Jesse was gesturing intently, and when his hands dropped to his side Eugene reached out to his face, slow and tentative and careful in a way their rough and tumble captain _ never _ was, and as soon as he touched him Jesse drew back, storming off like Eugene had lit a fire under his ass, stalking straight for his silver jeep.

As Jesse pulled out of the lot like a bat out of hell, Eugene made his way back to the house.

“What happened?” Nicholas said, when he had gotten close enough to talk.

“I’m not sure myself,” said Eugene, pulling on his messy hair, the easy lines of his face drawn taut and worried. Nicholas was about to ask if he was alright, when Eugene looked around. “How long did you leave Seiji alone for?” he asked, and Nicholas swore.

Any time he left Seiji unsupervised at a lacrosse party, it never ended well. Seiji had no concept of tact, even when he had a measure of respect for someone, and god help them if he felt the other person didn’t deserve it. His take no prisoners attitude didn’t jibe well with hot-headed athletes under the influence, and Gene had had to talk more than one member of the wrestling team out of putting him into a sleeper hold at the same fucking party.

And that had been with Seiji stone cold sober.

“Bro,” said Eugene. “Chill. I’m sure I can figure something out if he’s in trouble.”

They were headed back inside when someone grabbed his arm. “Have a minute?” they asked.

“I’ve got Seiji,” Eugene called over his shoulder as the screen door banged shut behind him.

“Sure,” said Nicholas, without thinking, and then he turned around and it was the redhead again.

“You’re real cute. As cute as he said, and then some.”

“As cute as who said?”

“Alex.” The redhead winked, placing a hand on his chest, and Nicholas’ stomach twisted. “He told me some other things about you, too,” he said, trailing his hand down to snag Nicholas by the waist, and he jerked back reflexively with a wince.

“What’s wrong?” asked the redhead. “Am I not good enough?”

Nicholas opened his mouth, but his throat had sealed itself shut.

“Alex said you were shy,” said the redhead. “A shy _ slut._ Maybe you need me to take charge?” He took a step closer, but then the screen door banged open again. 

“Maybe he needs you to fuck off and stop being a shithead, Max,” said Eugene, and Max stepped back at the venom in his voice.

“What the hell ever,” said Max. “It’s not like he’d be good for anything other than a quick lay, anyway.” He elbowed Eugene aside, skulking back into the house, and that’s when Nicholas noticed that behind Eugene was Seiji, well on the way to being drunk but still nimble as he weaved out of Max’s way.

Seiji paused at the door, whipping his head around to follow Max’s progress, and then turned back to Nicholas. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” said Nicholas, giving a weak smile. 

“He was being a dick about some rumor Alex spread around,” said Eugene. When Nicholas kicked him on the ankle he threw up his hands. “Well, he was!”

Seiji nodded imperiously. Without another word, he executed a heel turn and plunged into the crowd. 

“Gene!” Nicholas cried. “I don’t want a fight.” 

“He’s not gonna fight him,” said Eugene. “He’s just standing up for you. Someone needs to let Max know that’s not cool.” 

“I thought that’s what you just did,” said Nicholas, and Eugene gave him a look. 

“Yeeeah... you really don’t get how Seiji is about you, do you?” he asked, but before Nicholas could ask him what he meant, the screen door banged open again, and Seiji had Max by the back of his neck and was frog marching him over.

“Apologize,” said Seiji, and he gave him a shake like Max was a dog who had shit the bed. 

“I’m sorry,” said Max, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “I didn’t know you two were an item, I--”

“Not to _ me_, you imbecile.” Seiji jerked Max around to face Nicholas. “To _ him_.” 

“Sorry,” Max said shrilly. “I’m sorry, I swear it, I--”

“It’s fine,” said Nicholas, prying Seiji’s hand off Max, who took off like a shot before Seiji could collar him again. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“It was a misunderstanding, all right,” said Seiji, his voice as cold as an Artic current. “He isn’t fit to speak your name, much less lay a hand on you. Lucky for him I was here to clarify the situation.”

Eugene laughed. “Lucky is not the word I would have used,” he said.

“He didn’t fall down the stairs, did he?” asked Seiji delicately, and he snagged Nicholas’ hand in his, tugging him away from the door. “Let’s go. I’m done with this awful--“ 

He dropped Nicholas’ hand like it had scalded him. “What fresh hell is this?! How did you manage to get chocolate on yourself already? We haven’t even had the s’mores yet.”

“Exactly! What about the s’mores? Bobby will be super disappointed if we leave now.”

Seiji rolled his eyes, but before he could deliver whatever cutting remark he had planned, Eugene spoke up. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll talk to him. Bobby will understand.” 

“Fine,” said Nicholas glumly. “I’ll come home with you.” Seiji draped his scarf around his neck and pulled Nicholas unresisting down the driveway, and once they were out of earshot of the party Seiji stopped and turned to face him, the expression on his own face deadly serious.

“I know you wanted to stay, but you have to understand, Eugene was right. You are a puppy,” Seiji said, steamrolling over his protests. “A silly little puppy with messy fur and dirty paws and the darkest eyes and I have to protect you.”

“Protect me? What are you gonna do, fleche all my ex’s to death?” Nicholas hugged his chest. “You didn’t need to make Max apologize. I was fine.” 

“You know damn well this isn’t about fencing. And no, you weren’t,” Seiji said, and the blood rushed back into his cheeks, hot and stinging. “You were sad and embarrassed and you would have hidden out there for the rest of the party like you were the one at fault and fuck him for making you feel that way for one single second.” 

Nicholas crushed his ribs until they ached. “I could handle it,” he said, and Seiji frowned, his eyebrows drawn down into a deep crease. 

“Like you handled Alex?” he spat out, and Nicholas flinched, a burning behind his eyes.

“What about him?” he said thickly, and if he just avoided blinking for the next minute or so, then maybe...

Seiji shook his head. “This is serious,” he said, slurring the last word slightly on the ‘s’s. “You let people take advantage of you to the point that it’s infuriating. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

“Because I’m too stupid to take care of myself?” Nicholas said, forgetting not to blink.

When a tear rolled down his cheek, Seiji gave an exasperated cry. “No, no, no! That’s not what I meant at all! Stop that right this minute, and quit being deliberately obtuse. You treat everyone as if they’re like you, but they’re really, truly not,” he said grimly. 

_ Sounds like stupid to me. _

“Right,” said Nicholas, sniffling into the scarf, and Seiji growled. 

“Forget it,” he said. “I’m far too drunk to be having this conversation with you. Let’s go home.” 

Nicholas got the hiccups halfway there, the way he sometimes did when he’d been crying, and after the third one in a row Seiji pinned him to the wall, yanking his shirt up and tickling him mercilessly, which was the only way they had found to cure them.

After his hiccups finally went away, Seiji didn’t back off, but pressed closer, his mouth by Nicholas’ ear.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Nicholas said, swiping the back of his sleeve across his eyes, breathing in lager and the cool scent of the beach.

“No, it isn’t,” said Seiji. “But I’ll make it up to you.” He hauled Nicholas up, dragging him to their room, and when he shut the door he led him to his bed and laid him down and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until Nicholas was spread out on the sheets in a glorious haze.

Eventually Seiji hopped off the bed, pulling his shirt off his head and tossing it on the chair. While he undressed Nicholas sat up, dangling his heels over the side, watching the sleek lines of Seiji’s chest, and trying (and no doubt, failing) to disguise the desperation in his eyes, and then Seiji took his hand, pressing his mouth to Nicholas’ palm, kissing his way down his wrist. It should have looked dumb, him shirtless, swaying slightly, his hair sticking up all over the place, and his pants half undone. 

“I’d never deliberately hurt you,” he said quietly, his dark eyes boring into Nicholas. “You know that, don’t you?”

Nicholas looked to one side, blushing. “Of course I do.”

“You should know something else. That first time, I didn’t want to scare you away. I only meant to kiss you... but then you asked, and the way you said my name, I couldn’t deny you anything. You were sweet, _ painfully _ so, that way that you get sometimes, and I—”

“Sweet?” Nicholas gave a strained laugh. “You weren’t saying that earlier, at practice,” he said, with a half grin that disappeared when he looked up to meet Seiji staring at him, hot and fierce.

“I told you, little heartbreaker, I’m not talking about fencing,” he said, his voice roughened and soft like a cat’s tongue. “You threw that asshole Jared in the ditch for me. I saw you.”

“That was--”

“Absurd, and impulsive, and the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” said Seiji. “You said we were friends, Nicholas. After I punched you in the face. You’re always like that.” Seiji’s hands clenched on his belt, his knuckles white, and his eyes dropped to the floor before snapping back up to Nicholas. “I’d never gotten into a fist fight before. But I can’t control myself around you.”

Seiji held his gaze like he held his sword, light and careful and strong as steel, and stepped closer, the metallic scrape of his belt unbuckling the lone sound in the room. “Since the beginning,” he said. “I’ve never been able to control myself around you.”

“Then don’t,” said Nicholas, his cheeks burning. 

Seiji took his face in his palms, and he tasted like lager and lime, and his touch was as rough and soft as his voice, and Nicholas was making the most embarrassing noises into his mouth, and they were on the bed, those perfect hands on his chest, his nipples, his hips, his dick, and they were naked and Nicholas couldn’t find the lube at first and then he got the cap off and--

“Do you want me inside you again?” Seiji asked, and Nicholas trembled beneath him. “Yes,” he said, more a breath than a word, and this time Seiji didn’t blush. This time when he worked Nicholas open, his fingers were confident, slipping in with ease, and it was sickeningly good, and if Nicholas didn’t say something right now, he would come without getting what he wanted. 

What he’d been wanting with Seiji since forever, but fucking needed, with a consuming mindless desire, since last weekend. 

To go all the way. 

“Wait,” he said, and Seiji’s hand stilled. 

“Too much?” he asked. 

“No.” Nicholas shivered. “Not just… not just your fingers.”

“Oh,” said Seiji. 

It took _ for-fucking-ever_, because Seiji was huge, like Magnum huge, and also because he froze, shoulders taunt, if Nicholas as much as twitched an eyelid the wrong way.

“I’m not-- it’s okay,” Nicholas said for the tenth time, Seiji above him, serious and intent in between his raised knees, staring at him with a reverence that make Nicholas’ cheeks flare with heat, that made him look down at where they were joined, at anything but Seiji’s face.

Thankfully Seiji didn’t stop any more after that, merely continued his agonizing press inward, making Nicholas curse and sweat and ache in equal measure, eyes closed to be safe from that dark, dissecting gaze. 

There was an infinite stretch of time when the only sound was the slide of the sheets, the panting of Nicholas’ breath, and the hushed stick of skin against skin, and Nicholas felt like he was drowning in Seiji, inside and out, the pleasure as unstoppable as a rip tide, dragging him under.

“I’m going to come,” Nicholas said at some point, long past shame, “if you don’t stop.”

Seiji’s midnight eyes fixed on his face then, and he sank down into Nicholas, shifting his weight onto his left arm as his hand drifted down to touch him right where he needed it most.

“I’ll never hurt you.” Seiji moved his wrist delicately, and Nicholas melted onto the bed underneath him, gasping. “I need to hear you say it.” His hips paused in their rolling motion, and he brushed his nose against Nicholas’ ear, nipping the lobe with tender precision. “Say it, _ mon petit loup_.” 

That word, he could recognize it, if Seiji would only stop--

Seiji arched his hips, working his way inside Nicholas, deeper and deeper, and yet not quite deep enough. “_Say it_,” he growled.

“You--you’ll never hurt me,” Nicholas said, stammered, his spine fused to the mattress, legs permanently spread, mind adrift, bathed in the salt smell of the sea. 

“I’ll kill anyone who even tries,” Seiji said, and Nicholas’ eyelashes were damp on his cheeks, but he didn’t have time to wonder about it, because Seiji had started moving again, driving in to the hilt this time, fucking his brains out with the same deadly efficiency that he used to demolish his opponents.

“Seiji,” Nicholas said, his voice mangled as he came all over his best friend’s chest, and Seiji gave a grunt of satisfaction, black eyes catching Nicholas’ like a snake striking its prey. “My little heartbreaker,” he said again, in a low, hoarse voice, and then he was sinking into him one last time, pulsing inside him, and it was hot and tender and unbearably good, one of the best nights they had ever had, and Nicholas spent the rest of it curled up in Seiji’s arms, warm and sticky and safe, surrounded by the scent of the ocean.

Naturally by the next day Nicholas had managed to fuck it up.


	3. Paris at last

When Nicholas woke up, Seiji was gone.

It was Saturday, and he had early practice with Dymtro, which meant that Nicholas would have the room to himself for the morning. 

He rolled around in bed for a while, rubbing his face in Seiji’s pillow and fingering the marks on his neck with a smile big enough to make his face hurt. He was sore, but nothing crazy, and it was worth it.

_ So fucking worth it. _

Last night also happened to be colossally ill-advised, and it was only going to wrap him more around Seiji’s fingers-- Nicholas tensed in an involuntary reaction to the image that conjured up-- but at that moment he could not have given less of a fuck. 

He managed to put on sweatpants by the time Seiji finished practice, but that was the extent of his accomplishments. Nicholas sprawled on his stomach on the rumpled covers, hand pressing down on the spine of _ The Fellowship of the Ring_, and Frodo was checking into the Inn at Bree when a slender hand snatched the paperback away. 

“It’s twelve thirty and you haven’t even made the bed yet,” said Seiji grumpily, but when Nicholas looked up his mouth was creased at the corners.

“I was going to,” Nicholas said, trying to grab the book back and nearly succeeding in rolling off the bed, only to be saved by Seiji’s quick reflexes. 

“Uh-huh,” said Seiji, pushing him back onto the mattress and giving him a flat look, but the creases were still there, so Nicholas didn’t worry too much. Seiji ran his eyes over his side of the room then, itemizing the jumble of stray socks, shoes, and _ Pocky _ wrappers scattered about in heaps. “Like you were going to pick up all this crap?”

Nicholas rolled over near Seiji again, hanging his head over the side of the bed and looking at him upside down. Seiji’s hair was neatly combed, and he smelled like that honey and oatmeal soap he liked, which meant he must have taken a shower. He looked rundown, and there were dark smudges under his eyes, and his skin was washed out and he was tired and fussy and Nicholas loved him so much in that moment he felt like he could explode. 

Nicholas booped the tip of Seiji’s slight, perfect nose. 

“I was right about to start the deep clean when you came in,” Nicholas said, and he was smiling big enough to hurt his cheeks again, and _ so fucking what_?

“You’re an amazingly bad liar,” said Seiji flatly. 

“You don’t seem that upset.”

“It’s only natural for a puppy to mark its territory,” said Seiji, the creases morphing into a small smile, and when Nicholas gave an outraged cry, he dove onto the bed, wrapping Nicholas in his arms from behind and tickling him until he admitted defeat.

“I don’t see what’s hard to understand,” said Seiji, arms tucked securely around Nicholas’ chest, while Nicholas regrouped, panting and planning his escape. “It makes perfect sense. You drool on me constantly, you leave a path of destruction in your wake, if you had a tail you’d be wagging it nonstop… you couldn’t be more canine if you tried.”

“Is that why you keep me on such a short leash?” Nicholas asked, and he meant it to be a joke, but the thought of their fight last night made his tone more bitter than he would have liked.

Seiji relaxed his hold, taking Nicholas’ hand in between his own and taking a deep breath before letting it out between his teeth, and Nicholas could _ feel _ Seiji thinking, he was doing it so hard. 

“You know how disciplined I am about fencing,” Seiji said slowly, his fingers warm on Nicholas’. “How I never miss a practice if I can help it, how frustrated I am with my mistakes.” Nicholas snorted, but Seiji carried on. “Yes, it’s overkill to you, but I wasn’t always that way. Believe it or not, when I was younger, there was a time I begged my father to let me quit.”

“What?!” said Nicholas. “Why?” He tried to turn around and face him, but Seiji had tightened his grip again, resting his chin on Nicholas’ shoulder.

“You know how I am with people. It was worse then. It was hard to make friends, and I thought if I was more normal it might- might make them like me.” Nicholas whined softly in the back of his throat without meaning to, and Seiji squeezed him, hard. “It’s fine,” he said. “That was a long time ago, and I don’t feel that way anymore. I don’t want you worrying about that. 

“The point is, my father told me that I had been entrusted with a rare gift, and that I had a responsibility to take care of it, to safeguard and protect it.” Seiji’s shoulders pressing around Nicholas, hemming him in. When he began talking again, his voice was deep and quiet and powerful, like an ocean current, and Nicholas faltered in the depths, caught and unable to get free. “Last night, when I saw your face, I acted on pure instinct. I went over there and grabbed Max and, Nicholas, when I say I have to look out for you, it’s only because I --”

A smattering of knocking interrupted him, and Nicholas let out the breath he had been holding. _ Thank God. _

“Hey guys,” Bobby’s voice rang out from behind the door, chipper as ever. “I have a surprise for you at the clubhouse.”

Nicholas could hear Seiji behind him grinding his teeth, but even though he knew Seiji was trying to make him feel better, he had less than zero desire to rehash last night’s fight. 

Nicholas didn’t need to listen to Seiji explaining in exacting detail why he had a duty to defend the reputation of his dumbass friend with benefits... the same dumbass friend delusional enough to fall in love with him. Nicholas was sure Seiji’s intentions were noble and honorable and he _ never _ wanted to hear them, _ ever _.

“Right now?” Nicholas asked Bobby, and Seiji’s arms clamped around him.

“Make up some excuse,” Seiji said low in his ear, “I don’t care what, I’m in no mood to—”

“It involves s’mores,” Bobby sang out, and Seiji paused.

“Please,” Nicholas whispered back, “please please please, he made them for us special and—”

“Fine,” Seiji gritted out. “On one condition. Try not to set anything on fire this time.”

“We’re coming,” Nicholas called out to Bobby. “We’ll be there in a minute.” And in a soft undertone, to Seiji, he said: “Not a problem.”

It took them awhile to get dressed, but then they were on their way, Nicholas whistling cheerfully while Seiji brought up the rear, silent besides the occasional heavy sigh. 

Once they had run the obstacle course, they walked up to a clubhouse with windows and doors flung open, and the smell of a blazing fire on the hearth. 

“Bobby’s out looking for more firewood,” Eugene called out from the sofa where he was sticking marshmallows on unbent coat hangers. “Took you two long enough.” 

Seiji pressed his lips into a line. “We were busy,” he said.

“I’m sure you were,” Eugene said, shaking a coat hanger at him. “You can’t keep your hands off Nicholas for a second, can you?”

Nicholas felt his ears burn as Seiji favored Eugene with a truly sinister glare, batting it away. “For your information,” he said sharply, “We were having an important discussion--”

“Is that what they’re calling it now--”

“Before we got shanghaied into this --”

“I knew the sailing team had to be involved somehow, since Mister Perfectionist over here never does anything without launching a full investigation,” said Eugene, and when Seiji stopped, perplexed, he smirked. “I didn’t realize you were all tied up,” he said to Nicholas with a wink. “Or else I would have been more patient.”

Nicholas’ cheeks burned. “That--that isn’t, Eugene, I--”

Seiji grabbed Nicholas by the elbow, hooking him into his side. “One more word, Labao, and so help me God--”

“Got it,” said Eugene, shutting up. 

The door slammed as Bobby arrived with a stack of wood in his arms. He looked back and forth from Eugene’s sheepish wince to Seiji’s razor thin smile. “Did I miss something?”

“Nope!” said Nicholas, herding Seiji to the table. “Everything’s great, Bobby! We were just helping Gene set up.”

Seiji looked down at the marshmallow bag, his face gone drawn and pale, ducking out from underneath Nicholas’ arm and darting away to the bathroom. 

Nicholas squinted after him with a puzzled frown, but then Bobby had dropped off the logs and was coming up to the table, and Nicholas didn’t want him to think it was for him, so he made it into a smile instead. 

“You missed out on the s’mores at the party,” Bobby said. “So I wanted to have them here, just for you.” He stuck a marshmallow on the unbent coat hanger, holding it out to Nicholas. When Nicholas swept him up into a bear hug, Bobby squeaked, waving the marshmallow around and giggling.

“It’s nothing,” he said, laughing in Nicholas’ arms and squeaking again, and Nicholas had to hug him one more time, just because. 

When he let go, Seiji had come out of the bathroom scowling, clearly out of sorts. “Your hair is even more of a disaster than usual,” he snapped. “Come over here so I can make you at least vaguely presentable.” 

As soon as Bobby stepped away he yanked Nicholas over, examining him and shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his bangs.

“What’s up with you?” asked Nicholas. 

Seiji shook his head again. “I’m not a savage, that’s all,” he said, a surly expression on his face, and Nicholas knew better than to pick a fight when he looked like that. He gathered their marshmallows wordlessly from the table and they walked to the fire where Eugene and Bobby chatted merrily away, politely not listening to their little spat. 

Eugene had done a good job setting up the fire, and Nicholas smiled as an echo of his earlier excitement returned. 

_ Seiji just needs a s’more to cheer him up. _

Seiji held his marshmallow way too far from the flames, and Nicholas thought about saying something, but when he glanced at Seiji’s face, he decided he’d better concentrate on his own, sticking it close to a red hot coal. 

Nicholas watched Seiji’s forehead furrow, his frown getting deeper as the little wrinkle made its appearance, and the next thing he knew his marshmallow was on fire. Seiji grabbed him by the elbow, bringing the stick up and blowing out the flames. 

“That doesn’t count,” Nicholas said before Seiji could say anything. “That was on purpose.” Seiji rolled his eyes, but he gave Nicholas his unburnt marshmallow without further comment, heading back to the table.

Nicholas thought he was going to get a new marshmallow, but when he looked back, Seiji was sitting down, fencing journal spread open, deeply engrossed in whatever match he was writing about.

Nicholas was much more attentive with this marshmallow, keeping it a careful distance from the flames, and when it had gone golden brown, he assembled his ingredients with the same consideration he gave Coach’s instructions at practice.

Seiji was absorbed enough in what he was doing that he didn’t notice Nicholas until he had set the s’more right under his nose.

Seiji stared at the plate, his dark eyes underlined with heavy circles beneath them, and gave a nasty, retching cough. “I don’t want any,” he said, shoving the plate back into Nicholas’ hand, and something clicked in Nicholas’ head. 

“Oh my god, you’re hungover,” he said, and Seiji’s face was terrifying to behold. 

“How I detest your penchant for stating the obvious,” he hissed, storming off to the bathroom again, and Nicholas pinched the shit out of his wrist, because if Seiji even suspected he was laughing at him about this, all hell would break loose.

There was a glomping sort of noise, and Nicholas looked down at the s’more then, and what he saw made him suck in a breath fast enough that he gave himself the hiccups. When he had pinched himself he had tilted the plate, and the s’more had dripped onto Seiji’s journal, onto the open page where he had been writing, thick sticky globs of white glomming onto gleaming cursive, and Nicholas was so very, _ very _ dead.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and Bobby and Eugene met his frantic gaze with bewilderment. 

“It’ll wipe off,” said Bobby. “It’s just one--”

“Two--” said Nicholas, with a hiccup.

“Two pages, anyway.”

“You don’t know how he is about his journal,” said Nicholas. “He notices every mote of dust that touches it.”

“Look, let me--” Eugene began, walking over with an easy smile, but he had brought his marshmallow over and it was dripping too, and Nicholas smacked the journal out of the way, and the sleek leather sailed over the table, over the couch and through Bobby’s outstretched hands, and Eugene made a heroic dive but it was too late---

And the fire gave a satisfied roar.

“Oh no,” said Bobby, in a tiny, horrified voice, while Nicholas fell back onto the couch, speechless, the hiccups scared out of him. Meanwhile Eugene lay stunned on the floor, his mouth open in a perfect circle.

Seiji came out of the bathroom then, looking slightly less green, and sat down at the table.

“Where’s my journal?” he said.

***************

Nicholas had been in the dog house before, but never like this. 

Eugene fashioned a pair of tongs from some coat hangers, but by the time he fished the journal from the fire, January, February, and March were gone, along with most of April, and Seiji’s face had turned an ashen color, a mix between gray and green that reminded Nicholas of the sky that time he saw the tornado.

“Seiji,” Nicholas said as he tried to get up from the couch, tripped on a shoelace, and landed down directly on his ass, “Seiji, I am so sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to you--”

Seiji looked at him, his face blank, and the atmosphere in the room dropped quickly enough that Nicholas swore his ears popped. 

“I need you to not talk right now,” he said, his voice thin as paper, and Nicholas shrunk in on himself, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Ok,” he whispered, and he didn’t raise his eyes back up until Seiji had left, slamming the door behind him.

Eugene had what remained of the journal laid out on the table, and he and Bobby were picking off the burnt bits with the tweezers Bobby always carried in his purse. Nicholas sank down next to them with his head in his hands, and Eugene put a hand on his shoulder. “Chin up, bro,” he said. “He can’t stay mad forever, right?”

Nicholas gave a hollow laugh. The last time Nicholas had seen Seiji even close to this livid had been when he’d snapped the tip off his sword. That unfortunate accident had earned him the cold shoulder for a whole week, and that was only Seiji’s second favorite epee. This was his _ journal_. “Right,” Nicholas mumbled, forehead glued to the table, and no matter what Eugene and Bobby said, or how many s’mores they offered him, he could not be dragged out of his anguish.

Once they got back on campus proper, Bobby invited him over to watch a movie, but he shook his head. “Better to get it over with,” Eugene said, clapping him on the back, and they each hugged him at the door, as if he was proceeding to his own execution. 

All the anxiety proved fruitless. Seiji avoided the room until late, right before curfew, and Nicholas took the hint and pretended to go to sleep early so Seiji could creep in without having to talk to him.

The next morning Seiji breezed past him at practice with barely a flicker of his eyes as acknowledgement. He didn’t ignore Nicholas; it was more like it had been before they become friends. Seiji was in his own world, and Nicholas sat on the outside with everyone else. 

He was like a dog left out in the cold, and it was the most wretched he had been in a long time. 

At lunch Eugene and Bobby tried gamely to loosen Seiji up, but while he tolerated their questions and well meaning jokes, he still wouldn’t speak more than a word or two to Nicholas, and he wouldn’t look at him at all.

Afterwards Bobby texted him a picture of Bailey, slumped in his bed with a cone of shame and the most sorrowful eyes in the world. 

(At least ur balls are intact! :D)

_ For now. _

Eugene was more optimistic: 

(Seiji can’t hold out against your sad puppy eyes for much longer. He’s gonna crack soon, I can feel it.) 

Nicholas nibbled around the edge of his thumbnail. (Seiji is immune to sad puppy eyes.) 

(Nicholas. Bro. _No one _ is immune to your sad puppy eyes. Not even me.)

This seemed like a load of well meaning bullshit to Nicholas, but he appreciated the effort, and the picture of Bailey actually did help. Apparently he wasn’t the only one having a terrible day.

Nicholas tried to keep that perspective in mind when he opened the door to their room after last period. It lasted about three seconds, which was precisely the time it took him to clock Seiji sitting at his desk, the ruined journal open wide before him, and then Nicholas promptly reverted back to crippling shame and despair. 

“Can I--?”

“No,” said Seiji curtly. “I think you’ve done quite enough already, don’t you?”

Nicholas managed not to cower, but it was a close thing. He slunk off to his bed instead, opening up his history notes and pretending to study, but in reality all he was doing was listening to the crisp sound of Seiji rewriting his notes onto a fresh new diary and furtively watching him from behind his notebook.

After about an hour of this Seiji slammed the journal shut and turned to face him with a frigid glare. “Stop it, god dammit!” 

Nicholas sat straight up, dropping his notebook on his knees. “Stop what?”

“Stop staring at me!”

“But you can’t see me.”

“Much worse than seeing it,” said Seiji. “I can feel it, your pitiful face at my heels, following me around all day like a kicked dog. Knock it off, would you!”

“OK,” said Nicholas miserably, pulling the notebook up, and Seiji gave an agonized groan. 

“Fucking hell,” he said. “Fine. You forced my hand, and when it comes back to haunt you later, I want you to understand that it’s entirely your own fault.” Seiji got up then, coming over and sat down on Nicholas’ bed.

“You said you’d do anything to make it up to me,” he said, and Nicholas wriggled over to his side immediately, notebook tossed who knew where, biting back a smile that he knew would only annoy Seiji even more. 

“Yes, I did,” Nicholas said, bracing himself for a year’s worth of showering last and making the bed, of actually using his sock drawer for its intended purpose and not as his weed stash. “Do your worst.” 

“You really meant it, then?” Seiji said, studying his face intently, something ineffable hiding behind his gaze. 

Nicholas put his hands on Seiji’s knees, looking up at his face. “Yes,” he said gravely. “Anything.”

Seiji smiled, not a half smile but a full one, and something about it prickled the hairs on Nicholas’ neck. “Anything,” he repeated, and his eyes moved to something behind him on the bed. When Nicholas looked, there was nothing there. Nothing except his bookbag and Seiji’s phrase book, still full of green stickies.

Seiji’s French phrase book.

“NO,” Nicholas said instantly.

“You wanted to make it up to me,” said Seiji. “That’s how.”

“NO NO NO. Absolutely not!”

“You said anything.” Seiji paused, setting his hands over Nicholas’ and clasping them lightly. “Unless you didn’t mean it?” He tilted his head, a dangerous glint in his eyes, the same look he got right before he executed one of his lightning attacks, and that was the moment Nicholas knew he was well and truly fucked.

“Of course I meant it,” he said anyway, angrily, uselessly, “but that isn’t fair Seiji, you aren’t playing fair, and you know it, and I won’t let you bully me into it, there’s no way I’m going, no---

  
  


**********************

  
  


“--fucking way do we still have four hours on this plane.” Nicholas clung to his seat like a cat out on a limb, clamping down on the armrests as the plane dropped what felt like ten thousand feet in ten seconds.

“I told you to take the Dramamine earlier,” said Seiji with an air of calm that was intensely irritating, shaking out the tube of medicine into his hand. “It’s going to take a minute to kick in, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t working.”

Nicholas hated heights, he really, truly did. Naturally he hated flying too, with a mindless, instinctual dread. He thought it was bad when they had flown to Philly from New Haven, and that was only a one hour flight.

Paris was seven hours away. Seven long, turbulent hours away.

The plane took a brief nose dive and Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut, only opening them when Seiji unprized his fingers from the armrest, dropping two pills in his hand and holding a water bottle to his lips. “Take it,” he said sternly, and Nicholas didn’t even argue, tossing them in his mouth and gulping down half the water bottle in one go.

Seiji grabbed his hand when he finished, holding it in between his own. “The last match against Exton,” he said, piercing eyes staring into Nicholas’, “in that final bout, your technique was appalling, even for you. Marcel got three touches, all because your stance when you parry in sixth is too side on like I’ve told you, oh, roughly a million times or so.”

Nicholas’ jaw dropped. “Are you seriously insulting me right now?!”

“If you consider an accurate rendition of what occurred to be insulting, then I suppose I am,” said Seiji archly. The plane lurched to the side, and Nicholas’ eyes flew to the window, where slick grey sky had closed over the plane like the lid of a coffin, but Seiji reached over and pulled down the shade with a snap, while a hand on Nicholas’ nape guided him back to Seiji’s cool, dark-eyed gaze. “Maybe if you would listen to me once in a while, it wouldn’t have happened,” Seiji said, his fingers working against the knot at the base of Nicholas’ neck. “But perhaps that’s too much to ask, given that your head is as hard as a boulder.”

“You are un-fucking-believable, Seij,” said Nicholas, as the plane plummeted and bucked up, sending his stomach into the stratosphere, but Seiji’s grip on his spine just tightened, and his eyes didn’t move from Nicholas’ once.

“What’s unbelievable to me is how many times you’ve drilled that move yet still managed to fuck it up beautifully,” Seiji said matter-of-factly. “It’s like a miracle in reverse. In a way, I’m glad you’re there to show the freshman that the impossible really can be achieved.”

The pilot executed what felt like a perfect barrel roll, and Nicholas’ head jerked, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the window across the aisle, but Seiji’s hands on his neck pulled his gaze back to him, to his raised eyebrow and arrogant air of certainty, and Nicholas sat straight up in his seat, clenching his jaw.

“Listen up, Seiji Katayama,” he said. “Just because you’re an amazing fencer—” Nicholas noticed Seiji’s features softened at that, and he flared his nostrils. “It’s not a compliment, it’s just the truth, don’t you dare smile!” Seiji’s eyes widened, and his mouth creased, to Nicholas’ eternal annoyance, “—that doesn’t mean you’re the final authority on every move I make!”

“Did you forget what Coach said to you right before the match? She might as well have been quoting me verbatim.”

“She’s my Coach, she’s supposed to tell me what to do,” Nicholas said, fuming, as the plane rattled like it was about to fall to pieces. “You’re my teammate. You’re meant to be supportive of me, not sniping at me nonstop.”

“I see. Next time you lose a match through unforced errors, I’ll be sure to bring you a bouquet.” Seiji’s fingers found a particularly tense part of his neck, and sank in, hard, and Nicholas whimpered in relief. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, pressing back into Seiji’s grip.

“Tell me what flowers you like,” said Seiji, and Nicholas frowned at him, but then strong fingers starting digging into his shoulder muscles, and Nicholas closed his eyes, before opening them again with a start.

Seiji had one hand still on his neck, but he was pulling out the blanket with the other, and arranging their carryon bags to give Nicholas enough room to stretch out. 

“What flowers,” Seiji said obstinately, his fingers on Nicholas merciless and wonderful.

_ Flowers? _

His thoughts had gotten all slow and muddled, but even through the fog, Nicholas knew the only real answer to the question. He had first seen them during a middle school trip to DC, and even though the class had gone to the Smithsonian and the Zoo and the Lincoln Memorial, they were the part of the trip he remembered best. 

In his memory the branches were always waving, caught by the breezes over the water, refined, elegant and beautiful, Nicholas’ opposite in every imaginable way, and he had loved them ever since. 

“Cherry blossoms,” he said.

Seiji was working his bottom lip with his teeth. “If it’s not too early in the season, one of the _ Jardins_, maybe,” he said thoughtfully, “or the _ Parc Monceau_.” 

It was getting harder and harder to follow what Seiji was saying, as annoying as it was, and his chin kept dropping, and it was too heavy, just like his eyelids, and he slouched back, and then warm hands were moving the armrest over, and he was some place very safe, and very familiar, slotted in between Seiji’s arm and his chest, his face against Seiji’s neck, and Seiji’s hand in his hair. The plane was moving around, jerking them about like they were inside a pinball machine, but Nicholas was imagining Seiji with him in Washington, walking past the cherry trees in spring, and it was impossible to be anything but incandescently happy there, and he smiled in his sleep all the rest of the way to France.

**********************************************

Nicholas woke up to the roar of the plane hitting the runway, his face still comfortably smushed into Seiji’s side. 

“We’re here,” Seiji said, and Nicholas squished his face further into Seiji’s neck and sighed in relief. 

_ Back on earth at last. _

The plane took forever to taxi to the gate, and Nicholas didn’t stir from Seiji’s side when he heard the murmur of voices and the noise of a cart approach their seat. He was too content where he was to get up, even for caffeine.

The flight attendent asked Seiji what he wanted in English, but when he responded in French, she let out a musical laugh. 

« _ Ton petit ami est adorable. Était-ce le coup de foudre ? _ » she said, and Nicholas wished he had looked harder at Seiji’s phrase book. 

Seiji hugged him closer, his breath tickling Nicholas’ ear. « _ Pas exactement. Il voulait me tuer la première fois que je l'ai rencontré. _ »

« _ Une telle passion tout de suite, _ » said the stewardess, with a smile in her voice, and Nicholas clutched Seiji to his chest, moving his arms around him possessively. « _ Pas étonnant que vous lui soyez dévoué. _ »

« _ Mon cher et tendre ami, _ » said Seiji quietly, fingers warm on Nicholas’ wrist. « _ Je l’ai eu dans ma peau et je le veux là pour toujours. _ » 

The pilot came over the intercom then, and the stewardess left, thank god. Seiji unbuckled their seat belts and tugged Nicholas off him, huffing in in amusement. “Come on, lazy,” he said. “Get up. Paris is waiting.”

Nicholas had been sleepy on the plane, but the excitement of the airport soon put a stop to that. The terminal was a roar of noise, of announcements and trams, of takeoffs and landings, and underneath it all, the lyrical lilt of French, gorgeous and silky and secretive, and Seiji was tugging Nicholas along because he had stopped in the middle of the walkway again. “Hurry up,” he said. “We need to get your pass for the Metro.” 

Seiji dragged him into a small photo booth, plopping Nicholas inside while he pushed some buttons in front of the machine, which gave an impatient beep, a curtain sliding across the booth with a swish.

Nicholas pulled it back, revealing an irate Seiji. “Wait, aren’t you coming?”

“I already have a card, I just need to recharge it,” Seiji said, shoving him back in and closing the curtain. 

“What?” said Nicholas, right as the flash went off, and when the machine printed out the picture, Seiji snatched it up before Nicholas could see it.

“We need to get to the platform before the crowds start arriving. I want to be in the 10th arrondissement before _ Du Pain _ runs out of their chocolate croissants,” he said, ushering Nicholas along, and the promise of food was enough to entice him to follow without protest. The line at the counter was short, and soon Nicholas was the proud owner of a _ Navigo Découverte_, whatever that was. 

Nicholas peeled off the tiny photo and stuck it haphazardly on the purple card. “This is a shitty picture,” he said as he put on the clear plastic outer layer. “I look like I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing.” 

Seiji raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, little heartbreaker, how is that any different than normal?”

“Asshole.” Nicholas aimed a kick at his ankle which Seiji avoided neatly.

“Don’t attack, my poor lost puppy,” Seiji said, dodging as Nicholas attempted to kick him again. “If you don’t stop, people will think I’ve brought a rabid animal onto the train.”

Nicholas cried out in rage at that, tackling Seiji against the wall, only for him to turn the tables, pinning him against the brick, his dark eyes amused. “You’re proving my point, you realize,” he said, and Nicholas could feel his body heat through his thin sweater, could smell his summer scent, and he wriggled under his grip, his eyes caught by Seiji’s arrogant smile.

_ Such a prick. _

Nicholas licked his lips, and Seiji’s head dipped, before he pulled himself back. “No,” Seiji said, shaking his head briskly, like he was waking up from a dream. “My first time kissing you in France won’t be at the airport.” 

“Then where?”

“You’ll see,” said Seiji, and he grabbed Nicholas’ wrist and marched them over to the platform. 

The train was crowded and cramped, and they barely got seats, Nicholas squished against the hard plastic to avoid getting brained by someone’s luggage.

Seiji sat next to him, one arm draped on Nicholas’ thigh, _ rues _ and _ champs _ dripping off his tongue like honey, his inner passion on rare display as he took Nicholas through the itinerary he had planned, which Nicholas forget as soon as the words left his lips. Nicholas had never noticed before, but Seiji’s voice changed when he spoke French, became husky and deeper than normal, and-- 

“Nicholas,” said Seiji. “You haven’t said a word in the past five minutes.”

“I’m fine, Seiji,” said Nicholas, only a little dazed. “Really.” 

“We need to get some coffee in you.” Seiji rubbed his thigh reassuringly. “After we drop off the bags, I’ll find a place.”

The train came to a stop then, and Seiji stood up, so Nicholas did too, and when they got off the car the station was airy and grand, the biggest he’d ever seen, all windows and skylights hung over the station like a slice of honeycomb, the people passing underneath like bees in a hive, but he didn’t have time to look much, because Seiji was shepherding him along, hefting one of his bags on his shoulder before Nicholas could protest, ushering him through the massive crowd and tossing _ excusez-mois _ in their wake like confetti. 

Seiji fit here, like he fit on the piste; and suddenly Nicholas couldn’t imagine him anywhere else. Even though this was his first real view of Paris, as they began walking the narrow streets outside he couldn’t seem to stop watching his best friend, and so his first impression of the city was ancient cobblestones, stately buildings and manicured trees waving on the edge of his vision, Seiji striding through the center of it all with the same easy grace he brought to his fencing, his grip firm on Nicholas’ hand, herding him along to their hotel.

The place Seiji booked made Nicholas feel like he was in a snow globe, perfectly contained in a world that had been constructed for beauty and elegance above all else. There were golden chandeliers in the lobby, and Nicholas was afraid to sit down on any of the furniture, and he let Seiji go ahead, lurking near the double doors. 

As soon as he caught himself fooling with the wallet in his back pocket, he folded his arms across his chest right away, the tips of his cheeks burning, fidgeting until Seiji came up and handed him the plastic hotel key. “You go up and drop off your bags,” Seiji said, looking over his shoulder at the concierge and tapping his hotel key against his hip. “I need to see about something with the hotel. I won’t be long.”

If the lobby had been bad, the room was worse. From the giant bed to the sweeping balcony, complete with a table for two with a panorama of the charming street they had left behind, it was way too nice for Nicholas to deal with. He dropped his bags on the floor and jumped in the shower, and when he got out Seiji was there, turning down the bed and inspecting the sheets, phone glued to his ear. 

« _ Cette chambre d’hôtel est censée être plus grande,_ » he said, and Nicholas could hear the ice in his voice. « _J’ai besoin de tout pour être parfait pour mon-- _ » 

And then Seiji turned around.

“I thought you’d be longer,” Nicholas said awkwardly, fiddling with the towel around his waist as the person on the other end of the line rattled off machine gun French and Seiji stared at him with his dark eyes, tongue tracing his lips. 

“See that you do,” Seiji said abruptly, and hung up.

Nicholas could go ahead and change in front of him, it’s not like it mattered; Seiji had seen it all many times before. For some reason, though, Nicholas stood anxiously, his fingers tight on his towel, while Seiji looked him up and down, casing him from the tips of his toes to his messy wet hair.

“Maybe you should try the sheets,” Seiji said, sliding his hand across the bed. His eyes were huge. “They’re theoretically a thousand thread count, but I think the hotel is full of shit.”

Nicholas swallowed, crossing the lush carpet and sitting on the mattress, his hand next to Seiji’s. “I don’t know, Seiji,” he said, patting the sheets clumsily. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You like it,” Seiji said, and something flashed across his dark eyes when Nicholas nodded. “Good. Lie down,” he continued, sitting down next to him. “You can feel it better.”

Nicholas laid down on his side, then bit back a moan when Seiji’s hand traced down his ribs, stroking his flank up and down, while he pressed his face into Nicholas’ neck and took a deep breath. “Your skin is so soft,” he said quietly. “Soft and warm and sweet. I’m not supposed to kiss you yet, and you come out looking like that.” Seiji sighed against his neck, rolling off the bed, and Nicholas made a grab for him a second too late. 

“When are you supposed to kiss me?” he asked dejectedly.

“It’s _ where. _Get dressed, and I’ll show you.”

Seiji showered while Nicolas got ready, and it turned out that he had brought his clothes in the bathroom with him, to Nicholas’ disappointment, and soon they were on the streets of Paris again, and he still hadn’t gotten his kiss.

The concierge had told Seiji about a cafe near the hotel, and this time Seiji insisted Nicholas go up to the counter to try the samples, so he couldn’t avoid it any longer. 

But maybe it was better to just get it over with now.

Seiji trilled out their order, his shoulders tensed as he got out his credit card, but Nicholas stuck to their agreement, and said nothing when Seiji laid it on the counter, paying for the coffee like he had paid for the plane tickets, and the Metro pass.

Like he would pay for the hotel, and for dinner… like Seiji would pay for everything in Paris.

Nicholas wasn’t happy about it, but there was nothing he could do. 

While Seiji showed the barista a map on his phone, asking her a series of increasingly serious questions in precisely accented French, Nicholas went outside, where there was a table with a spectacular view of a canal surrounded by trees draped over the water, and drank his coffee. 

Nicholas had thought New Haven was swanky. 

But Paris existed in another universe, one that Nicholas didn’t belong to, that he couldn’t afford to get used to. 

One he never could have afforded, full stop, without Seiji. 

They hammered out the terms the day that Nicholas agreed to go.

He hadn’t gone down without a fight, and it had gotten ugly at the end, as they stood in the middle of their room sweaty and tired after a late practice, striking each other as fiercely as they had on the strip, only worse because there was nothing between them, not even their blades. 

“It’s not fair!” Nicholas sputtered. “For you to take care of the money, you know it isn’t. I’d be taking advantage of you, and you’re already spending--”

“No, you wouldn’t,” hissed Seiji. “I _ want _ to pay for you. Stop being such a proud, headstrong idiot and let me do it.”

“It isn’t fair and you know it.” Nicholas glared up at him, his mouth twisted, his arms folded across his chest.

“You know what else isn’t fair?” said Seiji, his eyes narrowed, and even though he was looking at Nicholas it felt like he was speaking past him, to someone who wasn’t there. “Your father getting Jesse a BMW when he hasn’t paid a cent of your child support. Are you going after him in court?”

“No,” said Nicholas furiously, “but that isn’t--”

“Then don’t talk to me about fair or not fair.” Seiji yanked off his shirt, balling it up and hurling it in the basket like it had personally insulted him.

Nicholas gritted his teeth. “That’s a different situation and you know it, Seiji Katayama.”

“You’re right, Nicholas,” said Seiji, grabbing pyjamas from his dresser and slamming it shut. “It is different. You’ll let your father walk all over you--”

“SEIJI--”

“And never let him see the pain he’s caused, but the minute I try to rectify the situation--”

“I don’t want your charity!” 

“By offering a deal which you instigated, if I recall--”

“You are so fucking underhanded, Katayama,” Nicholas said, glaring at him as heatedly as he possibly could, but Seiji glared right back at him, obstinate as a mule, not giving an inch. 

“I told you not to set anything on fire,” he said. “I don’t see why that was such a challenge. You should consider yourself fortunate that I’m the forgiving type.”

_ Wonder what Alex would say to that. _

“And, by the way, it’s not charity,” added Seiji, setting the clothes on top of the towel on his bed with a meticulous slowness that made Nicholas want to scream. “It’s an _ arrangement _.”

“Much better. Now I sound like your kept man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My paying for one trip doesn’t change the fact that you’re one of the most independent people I know.” 

The room jumped several degrees at once, like Nicholas had been dropped into a warm bath. “You really think that?” he asked.

Seiji tossed his head back impatiently. “I know that,” he said. “You’ve had to work harder than any of us on the team, on the piste and off, and you deserve to have someone else worry about the money for once in your life.” Seiji put his hands on his hips. “And I like taking care of you,” he said gravely, and he was sweaty and shirtless and solemn and Nicholas couldn’t quite hide his blush, and then the fight turned into what their fights always seemed to turn into, Seiji proving just how good he could take care of Nicholas, again and again and again, until Nicholas was a sweaty puddle on the mattress and he couldn’t have cared less who paid for what.

_ Fucking hell, I’m whipped. _

Nicholas studied the heart the barista had made on his latte and clenched his hand over his thigh. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t get wrapped up in guilt over the money, and when Seiji came back with three chocolate croissants and a muffin he greeted him with a tired, but mostly genuine, smile. “What’s with the haul?” he asked, as Seiji handed him the bag.

“Just in case we get hungry tonight, or we could eat them for breakfast tomorr-”

Nicholas looked up from the second croissant, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Or not,” said Seiji, his mouth creased at the corners, and he handed him the third croissant as they walked to the Metro.

The first place Seiji wanted to show him was some place called Montmartre. They had to get back on the subway again, and Seiji fussed the entire ride there, tugging his cuffs straight and patting the top of his hair, as if a strand had dared to go out of place in the hour since he had fixed it. 

“You look fine,” said Nicholas, putting a hand over Seiji’s, and Seiji stilled.

“Right,” he said, taking a deep breath, but he maintained that nervous energy, dark eyes electric, full of something deep and strange, until their stop.

Montmartre was apparently a neighborhood, one of the oldest in Paris, and a top tourist destination, Seiji explained to him apologetically-- “It’ll be crowded, although we are there on a weekday, which helps”-- but it was such a central part of the city that Seiji didn’t want him to miss it, even so.

“I think it helps to put Paris out in front of you,” he said. “It can be overwhelming to be here for the first time, and Montmartre gives you a frame of reference.”

Seiji paused. “And it’s magnificent,” he added casually. “There’s also that.”

He hadn’t needed to say the last part. 

The streets of Montmartre stood sharp and close together, lean alleyways framing slices of the city below, the buildings and people just far enough away to feel like pictures suspended in time. Above everything, floating like a ship in an ocean of blue sky, lay the white church on the hill, close and yet far, somehow removed. It did not seem like a building, but more like a person, contemplative and curious with its intricate windows and delicate details, appraising the city of Paris as if to say, yes, I am satisfied.

“How is this real,” said Nicholas. 

“We’ll go to the top of _ Sacre-Coeur_, don’t worry,” said Seiji, following his line of sight. “It’s the best view in the whole city.”

The cathedral was breathtaking, as was the view, but after they climbed down Nicholas found that he still preferred watching Paris from the streets of Montmartre. It was comforting to be under the church’s eye, safe and watchful, and he stared at yet another gorgeous vision of Paris while Seiji asked one of the docents something, pointing to a garden down the way filled with tall slender branched trees. Nicholas wondered if it must be a famous park, because something about the way the trees leaned over the sidewalk seemed familiar, but when he googled it the name didn’t ring a bell.

_ Maybe it was in _Midnight in Paris?

« _ Pas encore de fleurs de cerisier? _ » asked Seiji.

« _ Je suis désolé, mais ils ont été en retard cette année, monsieur. Peut-être près de la Tour Eiffel, dans le Champ de Mars. _ »

« _ Merci beaucoup. _ » 

Seiji walked up to Nicholas so silently that Nicholas jumped when he laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.

Nicholas nodded.

“I came here often when I first arrived. It helped me get some kind of perspective.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, even in Paris, sometimes it’s hard to see the big picture. And I just felt… stuck.”

“Because you lost to Jesse?” asked Nicholas. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Seiji hesitated for a moment, messing with his cuffs again. “Did you ever wonder why I went to France?”

“Yes,” Nicholas said, thinking of a stoned confession over brownies that Seiji doubtlessly didn’t recall.

“Whatever Aiden says, it wasn’t because I got second at Nationals. It was something that happened after.” Seiji clasped his arms, rubbing his hands up and down them as if he was cold, his eyes far away, and Nicholas felt sick inside, even though he had no idea what Seiji was going to say. 

“He was right about one thing.” Seiji took a deep breath. “I did have a crush on Jesse.”

Nicholas’ chest ached, and he rubbed his fingers against his collarbone, and he wanted to wipe whatever that horrible expression Seiji was wearing away, but he didn’t know quite how to do it. 

“It wasn’t because he was perfect, or the golden child, or whatever Aiden came up with.” Seiji’s voice was awfully faint now, and Nicholas had to strain to hear it. “It was because he was nice to me,” said Seiji, the terrible distance still on his face, and Nicholas stopped, taking Seiji’s hands in his, grabbing them tight. “Because he was nice to me and I thought he was my friend.”

“You don’t have to talk about this,” he said, and Seiji looked up, and his eyes changed when they saw Nicholas, his mouth doing something complicated. 

“I know,” he said, reaching out with one hand and brushing Nicholas’ hair off his forehead. “I know,_ mon coeur_.” Seiji left his hand there, tangled in Nicholas’ hair, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I heard him saying something after the match, and I-- I realized I was wrong, that he had never considered me anything more than a rival, and all of a sudden I had to leave, and no place was far enough away, so I went here.”

Seiji sighed and opened his eyes. “I thought it would be beautiful, and wonderful, and amazing… and it was. It was also lonely, and I could hide from my loneliness at school, but in France, I couldn’t, and especially not here, here where you can see everything, like a bird.” It was strange to hear Seiji admit that to Nicholas in the bright streets of Paris, gorgeous and miserable and completely sober, and Nicholas didn’t know what to say. “Have you ever felt that way? Like there was something you couldn’t face, some agonizing truth buried deep, and then suddenly it was all you could think about?”

_ I love you, and you’ll never love me. _

“What did you do?” Nicholas asked.

”I knew something had to change. I’d hike up here, anguished and determined, and I eventually came up with this crazy idea that if I beat Jesse, if I showed him what I could do, then he’d finally notice me, and I wouldn’t be alone.”

“I wish I could have fixed it. I wish I could have helped you,” said Nicholas, his throat strung tight as a whip. 

“Nicholas, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” said Seiji. “You _ did_.”

“I did?”

Seiji leaned closer to Nicholas, close enough that all he could see were those dark dark eyes staring at him. “I _ had _ to take you here, Nicholas,” he said rapidly, his face taut and strained as the words poured out of him in a nervous flood, “because it was you who changed all that for me, you changed _ everything_, and I’ve pictured you in Paris for so long now--”

“Since the Winter Festival?’ asked Nicholas.

Seiji’s eyes dropped. “Since you pushed Jared into the ditch,” he said softly. 

_ But that was-- _

“Last year,” Nicholas said. In front of him Seiji was staring at his feet, red faced and quiet on the cobblestone streets, the city rising behind him, and the sight of him took Nicholas’ breath away. 

“I never thought I’d be grateful for that time, but I am,” said Seiji. “because it led me to be here, today, with you. Do you understand, Nicholas?” he asked, raising his gaze at last, and the way he was looking at him was-- it felt like he was saying that he--

“Yes,” Nicholas said, and then Seiji finally, finally, kissed him, Paris fading away behind him, until for a time all Nicholas knew was rough hands and firm lips and the smell of the sea.

His mouth was sore when Seiji let him go again, pressing his face into Nicholas’ hair, holding him steady as Nicholas wavered, still dizzy from the kissing. When Nicholas’ stomach growled Seiji chuffed a laugh. 

“I know what you want to do next,” he said.

Though they had passed a million and a half cafes, and fancy French restaurants that had no price on their menus at all, Seiji led him past all of them to a little hole in the wall place that smelled heavenly and after about 20 minutes he was eating the best burger he had ever had in his life.

“Seiji,” said Nicholas dreamily as he ate his final pickle. They apparently made them in house, and Seiji had ordered him a side plate after the noise he made when he tasted the first one.

“Yes, little heartbreaker?” Seiji said, hand on his chin, watching him with dry amusement. He had finished already, but insisted Nicholas take his time, and even though he wasn’t eating anymore, he seemed to enjoy each bite Nicholas had as much or more than Nicholas himself.

“What next?”

“Are you tired? We can go back to the hotel,” said Seiji.

“I’m good for one more,” said Nicholas.

“Excellent,” said Seiji. “I was talking to the docent, and he gave me an idea...”

They took the metro across the Seine to the Champ de Mars, which as far as Nicholas could see was a fancy name for the gigantic park in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Nicholas gawked at the tower, at the sheer height and breadth of it, while Seiji studied the park, his sharp dark eyes searching for something, muttering to himself in French. “You stay right here,” he said, which wasn’t really necessary as Nicholas wasn’t even close to done looking, and he jogged off, head turning as he scanned the promenade.

_ What the hell is he doing? _

Seiji having impenetrable motivations wasn’t exactly anything earth shattering, and Nicholas shrugged it off, leaning on the back of a bench and studying how the sunset glided off the metal, the way the trees framed the Eiffel Tower, softening its hard, sweeping curves, making them gentle and inviting. It was striking and mesmerizing and gorgeous, and he was confused when Seiji returned, setting his elbows on the railing, and looking at the sunset, his mouth curled down at the edges. 

“Sorry about the sakuras,” he said irritably. “Apparently they don’t bloom until later on in the month.”

And then Nicholas knew why the trees in Montmartre had looked familiar, and what Seiji had been hunting for in every park they passed, and he pressed a kiss to Seiji’s cheek before he knew what was happening, and after that he couldn’t stop himself, tugging Seiji down and kissing his mole, the place above his nose where it wrinkled, the creases on the side of his mouth, and then finally everywhere, in a blur of kissing, warm skin under his lips, Seiji’s amused huffing in his ears. 

Nicholas pressed a final kiss on the tip of Seiji’s ear, and then pushed his face into the familiar warmth of his neck.

“You took me to see the cherry blossoms,” he said.

“Of course I did.” Seiji hugged him tight and then pulled him away, not far, just enough to see Nicholas’ face. “_ Such _ a little puppy,” Seiji said, and he was smiling, not one of his half ones but a real one, and the sunset was gilding his eyelashes, his face, and Nicholas had never understood how people looked at him and saw coldness, when all he could see was light and warmth — 

“I— I love—” Nicholas stammered, and Seiji’s eyes were huge on his, huge as that day at the beach, huge as the moon in the sky that night on the Ferris wheel and he almost almost _ almost _ said it. Nicholas stepped closer, his eyes dropping to Seiji’s chest as he took shallow breaths, his ribcage shrunk to nothing, “Paris,” he whispered, and stepped into Seiji’s arms. 

“I knew you would,” Seiji said. “I loved it too, from the moment I arrived, but…”

“But?” Nicholas echoed.

“Like I said, there was always something missing.” Seiji held him tighter. “But there isn’t. Not anymore,” he breathed on to Nicholas’ hair, and Nicholas trembled in his arms, and he didn’t dare say anything because if he did, he would give himself away.

The sun set at last, the last rays winking out, and Seiji was still holding him, one arm stroking under his shirt, his nose in Nicholas’ hair.

“What do you want to do now, _ mon petit loup_?” he asked.

“I want to go home,” said Nicholas, pressing as close to Seiji as he could get. “And,” he added, deliberately casual as if it were an afterthought, “I want you to tell me what that means.”

“What what means,” asked Seiji.

“What you always call me,” said Nicholas. He sounded the word out slow and careful. “_ Mon petit loup_.”

“Oh.” Seiji ran his fingers down Nicholas’ spine hard, making him shiver. “‘My little wolf,’” he said.

“Oh my god.” Nicholas pulled back, giving him an incredulous stare. “The puppy thing, it’s not just a joke to you! You’ve really been calling me your dog this whole time?”

“It’s not like you think. You’re taking it as an insult, and it’s really… quite the opposite.” 

“Yeah, sure,” said Nicholas. “So if I suddenly started calling you that, you wouldn’t mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Seiji folded his arms across his chest, the faintest pink across the bridge of his nose. “But I’d rather you called me something different.”

“Like what?” Nicholas asked sarcastically, expecting no real answer.

“Well,” Seiji said, the pink turning rapidly to red, “I’d prefer you chose your own nickname for me, but if you want my honest opinion... ”

Nicholas laughed. “When have you ever given anything else?”

Seiji pinched his lips together, and Nicholas booped his nose. “C’mon,” he said, wheedling, “You know I’m just teasing you. What do you want me to call you, Seij?”

“_Mon râleur_,” he said, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s…” Seiji somehow managed to scowl and blush at the same time, and the effect was disturbingly charming. “It’s like the movie, Snow White, you know...” 

When Nicholas raised his eyebrows he stiffened, and there was a pause. 

“Grumpy,” Seiji said, glaring at Nicholas as if he dared him to say something.

Nicholas gave a yip of pure glee. “Well, I can’t say that isn’t appropriate,” he said, giggling, and Seiji scowled harder.

“I’m glad this is amusing for you,” he said. 

He held his pout all the way to the hotel room, until Nicholas threw himself on the bed and rolled around gleefully.

“_So_ soft,” he said, and Seiji huffed.

“It really is an appropriate nickname,” he said, his hands on his hips as he shook his head.

“No,” said Nicholas, throwing a pillow at him, and Seiji sprang on the bed then, wrestling him to the mattress in about a minute flat, and in two more minutes Nicholas was half hard and he already knew where this was going.

“You have to admit, you adore having your belly rubbed.” Seiji stuck his hand under Nicholas’ shirt again, tracing over his stomach lightly with his nails. “Among other things,” Seiji continued, dropping his hand below Nicholas’ boxers, and Nicholas gave a shaky sigh, his knees falling apart, arching into Seiji’s firm grip. The day had primed him for Seiji’s touch, and it would have been over before they had even begun, but Seiji just gave him a few good strokes and then paused, his hand resting on Nicholas warm and promising.

“I got you a treat, _ mon petit loup_, for being such a good boy, and not catching a single thing on fire before the trip,” said Seiji, and Nicholas really should have hit him for that one, but he gripped Nicholas hard right after he said it, just the way Nicholas liked, and Nicholas just sighed and sank into the covers.

Seiji got up then, digging through his luggage and tossing something which Nicholas caught it by sheer reflex, squinting at the small leather strip, studded with tiny silver snaps.

“This better not be a collar,” he said. It didn’t look like one though, it was too small, and Seiji would never give him a blank collar; he was far too possessive for that. It would have to have his name on it on a little silver tag, to make sure there’d be no question who Nicholas belonged to and Nicholas stopped that train of thought right the fuck there.

“Not exactly,” said Seiji. He licked his lips, eyes flickering to the side. “You always say you like me being in control.”

“Ye-esss,” said Nicholas. “What does that have to do with--” And then it clicked. Seiji’s awkwardness, the hiding place in the depths of his athletic bag, the light blush on his cheeks coupled with the promise behind his eyes.

“A cock ring,” he said, and Seiji set his gaze against Nicholas’, midnight eyes wide.

“We don’t have to use it,” he said softly. “But-- I’d be able to-- that is--”

“I couldn’t come without your permission,” said Nicholas, and Seiji’s eyes were huge now, huge and hungry on his own.

“Yes,” he said. “Would you like that?” 

Nicholas shut his eyes tight. “I want to be on my stomach,” he said. _ That way you won’t be able to see my face. _ “With-- with the tie.”

“You’d be completely helpless,” said Seiji, his voice pitched lower than Nicholas had ever heard it. 

Nicholas bit the inside of his cheek. “I know,” he said, and Seiji shoved him down and kissed him, dragging his lower lip between his teeth. He kissed him until Nicholas was writhing underneath him, and then he ran his fingers down Nicholas’ right arm and tugged it up over his head, placing it palm up on the sheets and letting go with one final squeeze. He did the same to the other arm, crossing his wrists together and pressing them into the mattress, although there was no need, because Nicholas’ entire body had melted to the bed. 

He couldn’t have moved if he tried. 

Seiji sat back on his haunches and his hands went to his pocket, sliding the tie in between his fingers and did he keep one in his pocket now, fucking hell and suddenly Nicholas needed not to look at his hands or the tie anymore and he focused on his face instead, but that turned out to be an even bigger mistake. 

Seiji’s hair was ruffled, spiking out messy and wild, and pink was spreading across his nose and cheekbones, and his mouth was open, lips parted, and he was staring at Nicholas like he wanted to eat him alive. 

“You’re beautiful,” Seiji said harshly, as Nicholas turned his head to the side, his cheeks flaming, and cool fingers and silk slid across his wrists then, and he closed his eyes as Seiji pulled on the tie, making sure it was secure, and then he coiled around Nicholas, placing a careful kiss on his jaw. 

“I’m going to turn you over now,” he said, and he flipped Nicholas onto his belly, wrapping the tie around the headboard.

Seiji went slow and gentle, like usual, and when he had gotten three fingers inside, he paused.

“Do you... ?”

“I want you inside me,” said Nicholas. 

It was warm on the bed, warm on his belly, leather wrapped around him tight, holding him safe, tight as the tie around his wrists. Seiji twined himself around Nicholas too, hips covering Nicholas’, legs guarding Nicholas’ own, on him like a second skin, his arms twisting around him, mouthing the expanse between his shoulders and his neck and marking up any spot he could reach. 

Each time Seiji rocked his hips, he sank deeper, working his way further in, and the riptide feeling struck with its usual urgency, but this time no matter how far he went under, Nicholas couldn’t. Not with-- not with the leather around him, not with the ring on, and he’d just have to wait-- until Seiji--

_ Until he gives me permission. _

At that thought Nicholas felt himself throbbing so hard it was like pain, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, and Seiji had gotten a rhythm down, and every time he snapped his hips Nicholas made a sound, a breathless, brainless “_ Oh _ !” and the pleasure built and built until he consisted solely of skin and heat and need, a visceral, pulsing need, for Seiji to touch him but at the same time, for Seiji to never let him go, because Seiji could do anything he wanted to Nicholas, because Nicholas belonged to him, because Nicholas loved him, because Nicholas had been in love with him for ages, fucking ages and _ maybe Seiji loved him too _ and Nicholas was weightless then, he was floating in an endless feedback loop of: 

Seiji touching him

biting the nape of his neck

thrusting deep and sure inside of him, each one punctuated with an _ oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! _

flanking him on all sides, protecting him

and it was happening over and over and over and over and over--

and Seiji’s hand did something then, moving over his stomach and there was a snapping noise and Nicholas was soaring now, high above the city, high above everything, his vision blurred, his heart racing, his mind blissfully, utterly silent.

Things continued happened around him then, the heat as Seiji came inside him, the tie around his wrists loosened, Seiji’s fingers checking out his skin for bruises, flipping him over and cleaning him up and Nicholas was warm and safe and happy through all of it, limp and mindless as though he had been drugged and then there was a chill and Seiji was getting up, he was leaving--

“Seiji, _ please_,” said Nicholas, his words strewn together like he was hammered. “Seiji.”

“It’s alright, little heartbreaker,” said Seiji. “You know I like to take a shower after we--”

Nicholas yanked Seiji down on the bed, arranging him on top of him like a blanket, and when he was done there were barely any places they weren’t touching. “There,” said Nicholas, squishing Seiji as close as he could go, winding his arms around him and giving a deep sigh. 

When he pressed his face against Seiji’s chest he could hear his heartbeat, fast and furious. “Did I hurt you?” Seiji asked.

“No,” said Nicholas. “‘I’m dizzy and scared. When I touch you it stops.”

“I should have guessed,” said Seiji. “You’re naturally tactile anyway, it makes perfect sense. I read about this when I was doing my research, skin to skin contact helps offset the drop in adrenaline when--”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Nicholas hummed as Seiji curled around him, talking about something which was probably important, but he knew without a doubt that whatever it was, Seiji had it under control, and Nicholas lay back and relaxed on the satiny sheets, floating on a warm current in a tropical sea.

***************

Nicholas woke up to cool fingers on his forehead, running through his hair. “I’m going to call my father and then get us some coffee. I’ll be back, _ mon petit loup_,” said Seiji.

Nicholas stretched, and rolled over, resting on a pillow light as a cloud, but something was niggling at him, and he couldn’t go back to sleep. 

He opened Seiji’s bag and picked up the French phrase book, and when he read the highlighted parts he went hot all over, a prickly, tender heat like a fever, and the dizzy, dreamlike feeling he had had on the hill at Montmartre returned, and he had to rub the water bottle from the mini fridge on his forehead for a good ten minutes until he finally wrestled his emotions into submission.

Then Nicholas got busy, googling on his phone, and because he didn’t know the spelling, it took him a while until he found it.

The door opened with a click, and Nicholas blacked out the screen, shoving it under his pillow while Seiji watched in bemusement.

“What was all that about, little heartbreaker?” he asked. 

Nicholas sat on top of the pillow. He was ninety percent certain Seiji had figured out his passcode, and he wasn’t taking any chances. “Nothing,” he said, and he wouldn’t budge until Seiji was in the shower and the door was locked, and then his phone came out again, and he studied like a madman till the minute Seiji came back out, hair mussed and wearing nothing but a towel around his trim waist, and Nicholas hadn’t even said what he was planning on saying and he was already blushing.

“What were you doing earlier, anyway?” asked Seiji, as he ran a comb over his head. “Besides rolling around and messing up the bed, I mean,” he added, giving a little huff as he walked over to the dresser to pick out his clothes. Seiji bent over then, towel riding low on his hips, every inch of his long, golden back on display, sleek muscles swooping down his spine and coming to rest at the dimples right above his perfect ass, and Nicholas swallowed hard.

“I was just looking at the stuff you highlighted,” he said. 

Seiji paused, his hands unmoving where he had been digging in the drawer. “And?” he said.

“_Mon petit loup _,” said Nicholas. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

“I told you what it meant.” Seiji straightened, bracing himself against the table with the palms of his hands, but he didn’t turn around. 

“You didn’t tell me everything.”

“It’s not like I gave you a book on it,” said Seiji, closing the drawer and facing Nicholas as he leaned against it, his hips cocked like a threat. “Oh wait, I did.”

Nicholas rubbed the bridge of his nose, staring down at the fancy carpet. “You didn’t explain that it meant… that it means…”

“‘My darling,’” said Seiji, in a very low voice, and then his arms were around Nicholas again, and Nicholas was hiding his face in Seiji’s shoulder, pressed against his slender chest.

“Yes,” he said, his voice muffled. 

Seiji nipped the tender skin under his jaw in admonishment. “If you had read the book like you promised, you would know,” he growled.

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t be able to bitch at me, _ mon râleur_,” said Nicholas, and he had practiced pronouncing it the entire time Seiji had been in the shower, but he was still worried he had messed it up, until Seiji’s head dipped closer to his neck and the next bite was not gentle at all, and Nicholas whimpered, lifting his chin higher.

“_Nicholas_,” Seiji said, guiding him back down to the bed and dropping his towel, and then Nicholas was on his back under miles of long, lean limbs and creamy, damp skin, with Seiji peeling off Nicholas’ boxers as he went, and then Seiji proved, very thoroughly, how not grumpy he was for the better part of the morning, until they both had to get ready for the tournament. 

The stadium was a short bus ride away-- “The Metro is usually more efficient, but the bus system in Paris is excellent as well”-- and Nicholas remembered his certainty that Seiji had never ridden a bus before in his life, but in retrospect, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

Just like everything with Seiji, there was more than met the eye. 

Seiji was up to fight first, and after they suited up Nicholas went to get the best vantage point on the bleachers. 

Seiji took his first few points with a series of brutal fleches, his thighs solid as steel, tongue between his teeth, and a trickle of sweat dripped down Nicholas’ chest as he shifted in his seat. He had always loved watching Seiji fight, but after they had gotten together that became a dangerous pastime, because sometimes the expressions Seiji wore on the strip reminded Nicholas of the expressions he wore at other times, stern and passionate and unforgiving, lean muscles bunching and extending above him, relentless on the attack, and it was lucky that Seiji had worked him to exhaustion earlier, or else things might have gotten a bit tricky. 

Nicholas was pretty sure fighting with a hard-on wasn’t against the rules per se, but he wasn’t eager to be the first to find out.

“_Victoire à Katayama_,” came the voice on the loudspeaker, and Nicholas elbowed his way onto the strip, wrapping his arms around Seiji’s lean, muscular form. “Congratulations,” he said, pressing his face into the part of Seiji’s fencing jacket that was unzipped and taking a deep breath of Seiji’s scent. “You were amazing.”

“As if there was any doubt,” Seiji said arrogantly, but his arms around Nicholas were gentle. “Little heartbreaker, you need to get ready for your own match.” 

“I know,” said Nicholas, but he still didn’t move. He was thinking of the other word that had been highlighted in the phrase book, the one under my darling, the one that had made him dizzy, the one he lost the nerve to ask Seiji about before.

“What does _ mon coeur _mean, Seiji?”

Seiji took a sharp breath. “Why do you ask?” he said, and there was something strange in his voice, but without being able to see his face Nicholas couldn’t tell what it could possibly be.

“The name of the church in Montmartre sounded familiar, I guess, and I was trying to figure out why,” said Nicholas, lying through his teeth. He knew what the phrase book said, but for some reason, he needed to hear Seiji say it, to make sure that he wasn’t-- that he wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there, just because he wanted them to be real so bad.

“Right,” said Seiji, stepping back from Nicholas. He zipped up his jacket slow, taking his time, and Nicholas had given up on getting a reply when he finally responded. “_Mon coeur _ means ‘my heart,’” Seiji paused, his voice catching, and he cleared his throat. “It’s a nickname, but you wouldn’t-- that is, you’d only use it for someone that you— that you’re in love with.” 

“Huh,” said Nicholas, as his heart attempted to beat out of his chest, but he managed to maintain a semblance of normality, at least until he split up with Seiji in the locker room, and then he sat down on the bench and gazed at his epee, his cheeks scarlet, until one of the other fencers put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if he needed the nurse, with a worried frown.

“No, no,” he said. “I’m okay.”

When he checked on the board, he saw his match was delayed, and he headed over to watch Seiji’s next one instead. 

On his way there Nicholas ran into Jesse, hot off a three bout winning streak, wiping a towel over his face and skulking in a corner in a Kings’ Row hoodie, of all things. 

He was on a bench in between two enormous fern plants, and Nicholas would never have noticed him if Jesse hadn’t hooked an arm through his elbow and dragged him back behind the ferns to join him on the bench.

“Jesse? What are you doing back here?”

“Avoiding my dad,” Jesse said, his usual smirk nowhere in evidence. His fingers tugged on the laces of the hoodie, and he seemed to retreat back into it, sinking into its soft folds as if it were a safety blanket. “You haven’t heard from Labao lately, have you?” He wiped his forehead with the towel again. 

_ If he’s hot enough to be sweating, why is he wearing a jacket? _

Nicholas shifted his eyes to the ceiling as he chewed his bottom lip. “Not since last week, why?”

“Captain stuff,” Jesse said, pulling the sleeves down over his hands, and for a minute he looked like the younger brother, and not Nicholas. “Nothing important.” 

“You want me to call him for you?” 

“No!” Jesse cried, sitting straight up from his slump. “I have his number, I already texted him yesterday.”

“Maybe you should call him?”

“I did. Today. Twice.” 

_ Twice? _

Before Nicholas could say anything to that, though, even to mess with Jesse over whose hoodie he was wearing (and Nicholas had a strong suspicion he knew), their father’s deep voice rang out from the door at the end of the hall.

“Jesse?” he said. “Time to come out and earn that BMW.”

It sounded like a joke, and it must be. It _ had _ to be.

Jesse pulled the collar of the hoodie up over his face, pressing it into the skin there, and then he took a deep breath and shrugged it off, shoving it into his bag with the towel. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, hard, and then there it was, his usual bulletproof smirk, and if maybe something else lurked in the corners of his blue eyes, Nicholas was sure he’d be the only one to notice.

“If you happen to talk to Labao, just tell him I called, would you?” Jesse said.

“Sure,” said Nicholas, and before he knew it he was giving Jesse a hug. “Congratulations on your wins,” he said, and Jesse’s smirk wobbled.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes again, and he was gone, and Nicholas made a mental note to call Eugene tonight.

Once he made his way down to the other end of the stadium, Seiji’s match hadn’t yet begun. Nicholas crept around the outside of the stands, intent on ambushing him as payback for all the tickling yesterday, but after he got to the balcony where Seiji was standing, someone had already joined him there, someone tall and broad shouldered, in flawless fencing whites, and when he got closer, he realized they were speaking in French, and Nicholas’ stomach twinged. 

When Seiji saw him they both turned around, and the boy next to him was tall and handsome, with pretty eyes and perfect hair and Nicholas raked a hand through his messy bangs, the anxious smile come up on his face like clockwork. “Hiya,” he said stupidly.

“Jules,” said Seiji, “this is Nicholas.”

“Ah,” said Jules, giving a sly grin. « _ Votre petit ami? Espèce de bâtard chanceux, il sourit comme un ange. Je vais peut-être te le voler. _ » His hazel eyes darted between Nicholas and Seiji, and he gave a giggle.

“That’s not funny,” snapped Seiji, frowning. “And it’s rude to speak French in front of Nicholas, he doesn’t understand it.” 

“My mistake,” said Jules, the grin still on his face, and he must have picked up on what was happening between them, or maybe Seiji had told him, and he found the idea of Nicholas with Seiji hilarious.

Maybe Seiji found it hilarious, too.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Nicholas, and his cheeks were getting blotchy again, and the things he had been thinking in the locker room before seemed more and more like the heartsick daydreams of a dumb little kid. 

“You have to excuse him. Jules practices even more than I do,” said Seiji. “He doesn’t have any room left in his empty head for manners, only fencing.”

“Manners won’t get you first place at the European Cadet and Juniors Championships three years running,” said Jules, and Seiji rolled his eyes.

“We met there two years ago,” he said. “Jules is considering an exchange with Exton, or, if I’m very unlucky, Kings’ Row.”

Jules gave a sardonic bow. “Is he always this charming?” he asked Nicholas, who shrugged helplessly, still stuck on the fact that Jules had won first place three years in a row. 

“You more than make up for it, though,” Jules said, stepping closer. « _ Enchanté, beau, _» he said, and he bent over and kissed him on the cheek, while Nicholas stood there dumbly. He wouldn’t have been more shocked if Jules had up and hit him with a brick.

“I said, stop talking in French, you rude little shit,” Seiji hissed, cranky as a wet cat, and now Nicholas was certain Jules was teasing Seiji about him, and he wanted to disappear into the floor, but he couldn’t, so he just went bright pink and hugged himself instead. 

Jules raised an eyebrow. « _ Tu n’avez pas besoin de vous inquiéter. Il n’a pas cessé de te regarder toute la journée, _ » he said, his pretty eyes suddenly serious, and he turned to Nicholas again. “Please don’t be upset, Nicholas Cox,” he said, “Or your lovely Seiji will have my head on a platter.”

“Ciao, Jules,” said Seiji sharply, shoving him along, and Jules waved goodbye. 

“He wants to have dinner with us tonight,” said Seiji. “I wasn’t able to talk my way out of it, but I promise you he usually isn’t this irritating.”

“Okay,” said Nicholas numbly, and Seiji narrowed his eyes, but then his name came over the loudspeakers, and Seiji had to go get ready for his match, and he didn’t have the time to pry it out of him.

The day passed in a frenzy of fencing. Nicholas lasted until the very end, but his final loss meant that this day of competition would be his first and last. He’d normally be depressed with his showing, but his mood was such that it didn’t even penetrate. 

All his thoughts, keen and sharp and unpleasant, pointed to dinner, and though part of him wanted to get out of it, another part of Nicholas felt like he needed to go-- to see the reality of what he was to Seiji, once and for all.

Nicholas had tried to keep it together on the way there, but he could tell that Seiji knew something was wrong. He had sat close to him on the metro, close enough that Nicholas was halfway in Seiji’s lap, wearing some blue and white striped sweater that made him look like a sailor and his worry wrinkle, and even in the shit light of the subway he was as handsome as ever.

Jules had picked the place, some high end fusion restaurant that Nicholas felt uncomfortable in as soon as he walked in the door. 

“Are you sure you don’t have a stomachache?” Seiji asked, his hand rubbing Nicholas’ thigh as they sat down. 

“No, I’m fine,” Nicholas said stubbornly. “I want to get to know your friend.”

“Be still my heart,” crowed Jules, who had just swept in through the double doors. “Have I finally attained that mythical status?”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” said Seiji.

“You’re not glaring at me, or throwing me out, so I’ll count it as a victory,” said Jules. He grinned at Nicholas as he took a seat across from them, as if to share in the joke, and when Nicholas forced a small smile Seiji seemed relieved. 

“With a friend like you,” he said, the edges of his mouth creased, “who needs enemies?” He raised an eyebrow, and slid a menu over to Jules, who took it, his grin widening, and again Nicholas was struck by how striking they looked together, quite the pair.

_ Do you want Jules to be your friend like I’m your friend? Naked underneath you, throat bared, taking all your kisses and begging you for more.... _

Nicholas’ smile faltered, and Jules’ eyebrows knitted. “If it’s a bad time,” he began, and Nicholas hurried to reassure him.

“No, no,” he said, “I’m just tired from the flight yesterday. I didn’t sleep well on the plane.”

“I told you to take the Dramamine,” said Seiji snottily, but when Nicholas made no reply he looked over, the wrinkle set above his nose again. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” said Nicholas. “Really.”

He was saved from further investigation by the arrival of the appetizers, and then Jules and Seiji got into a spirited discussion about one of the final matches of the day, and Nicholas was able to skate by with the occasional aside, though he noticed Seiji’s wrinkle still hadn’t gone away.

“Coste is here too,” said Jules absently, picking at the last of the calamari, and Nicholas felt rather than saw Seiji stiffen besides him. 

“I thought he was skipping this year,” said Seiji, as his arm came around Nicholas’ shoulders.

“No,” Nicholas said. “He told me that d-- that his dad insisted on coming.”

Seiji’s arm tightened around Nicholas. “You saw him today, and you didn’t tell me,” he said in an undertone. 

“You guys are friends with Coste?” Jules asked, as Nicholas wriggled out from under Seiji’s hold, and Seiji frowned at him.

“Sort of. Our captain is trying to date him,” Nicholas said, and Jules gave a bark of laughter. 

“Your captain is either brave, or insane.”

“Why not both?” said Seiji, but his eyes were still watching Nicholas carefully.

“True.” Jules sipped his water and gave an expansive shrug. “When it comes to love, aren’t we all a bit mad?” 

“Speak for yourself,” said Seiji, spreading the butter across his roll delicately.

“I was mainly speaking for Nicholas,” said Jules, and Seiji’s hand jerked, sending the bread flying onto the floor.

“You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are, Jules,” he said acidly, setting his knife on the plate with a dull clink.

Nicholas took a gulp of water, but it wasn’t nearly enough to quench his throat, which had gone dry. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Certain people, you’d have to be excessively brave or excessively stupid to dare to love them, wouldn’t you agree?” Jules gave a sly look over at Seiji, who was kicking the fallen roll under the table with a viciousness that was not at all proportionate. “Certain people whose dedication to their calling leaves them little time or inclination for anything else, who place perfection on a pedestal… isn’t it tempting fate to put your heart in the hands of someone like that?”

“Maybe,” said Nicholas, and Seiji went so still beside him that it seemed like he wasn’t breathing. “But if you’ve felt that same passion directed at you alone, if they make you the focus of all that discipline… it’s impossible not to fall in love with them. It’s not bravery, it’s...” Nicholas paused, frustrated at the words that wouldn’t come. “Like being pulled into the Sun,” he said finally. “Inescapable, only you don’t want to escape. You just want to burn as bright as they do, and even if it’s only for a moment, it would still be worth it.”

Jules cocked his head, studying him in silence. 

“It isn’t a put on, is it?” he said finally. “You really are sweet, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Nicholas, embarrassed, but then Seiji finally unfroze, his arm locking Nicholas into his side. “I do,” he said, his voice strained, holding Nicholas so tight that it hurt. « _ Mon petit ami. _ »

Jules’ eyes flicked between the two of them, and the smile he gave then wasn’t nearly as big as his charming one, but Nicholas liked it much better. “I see,” he said quietly.

Seiji’s phone chirruped and he looked at it and sighed. “It’s my dad,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’ll be right back.” He untangled himself from Nicholas reluctantly, giving him a stiff hug and burying his nose in his hair before stalking off outside.

_ He’s going to be in a hell of a mood when he gets back. _

Nicholas had learned from long experience that late night post game calls like this from Katashi didn’t bode well, and he watched Seiji’s shoulders rise to meet his ears as he answered the phone, his stomach clenching in sympathy.

When he looked back at the table, Jules was studying him, that small smile still on his face. 

“French is an interesting language,” he said conspiratorially, leaning across the table. “For instance, did you know that the word for _ like _ and the word for _ love _ are one and the same?” 

“Oh,” said Nicholas, giving a weak smile and trying to eat more of his burger. “That seems confusing.”

“Yes,” said Jules. “Exactly. But in France, we love such ambiguity. We recognize it as an essential part of life. For instance, someone could be your confidante, the one you’d trust with your life, and your lover, the one who owns your heart, all at once, and then you have the perfect word for them: _ mon petit ami, _ my darling little friend.”

_ Isn’t that what Seiji just...? _

But Nicholas couldn’t be sure, not really, not the way French sounded to him, slurred and beautiful and all the same, and his cheeks went pink. “That’s very interesting,” he said to his plate.

“You should learn these,” Jules said. « _ Mon coeur, ma moitié, mon doudou_. » He winked and repeated them again. “For your _ friend _, Seiji.” 

“What do they mean?”

“Seiji will tell you, _ mon cherie. _ After he’s picked himself up off the floor, that is.” He smiled, and Nicholas felt off his stride, unsure and unsettled, part of some game Jules was playing that he didn’t understand, and all he wanted was for Seiji to come back and put his arm around him again.

He excused himself and went to the bathroom, and when he came back, he saw Seiji had returned, and Nicholas felt sick again.

He and Jules were talking in rapid French, liquid syllables purring together, Seiji’s raven hair next to Jules’s sleek auburn, and they matched, and Nicholas didn’t want to eat any of the dessert that had looked so good on the menu, not a crumb. 

“I told you not to speak French to him. And you can stop showing off any time now,” Seiji was saying, his face flushed pink. “It’s not working.” But Seiji never blushed, never got rattled, only with Nicholas; it was one of the things that had made Nicholas feel special in the beginning, before they got together even, his unique ability to get under Seiji’s skin. 

Only now he saw how it wasn’t so unique after all.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jules, giving a handsome smile. “I think I’m making at least a little headway, don’t you?”

“I think you’re making precisely none,” Seiji said, nettled, but the passion in his eyes seemed to contradict his words, and Nicholas put a hand against the wall, his head swimming. He hadn’t thought Jules would make a play for Seiji tonight, but it seems he was just waiting for Nicholas to go off stage to make his move, and Nicholas, far from wanting Seiji’s arms around him, suddenly had to leave, he had to get away, he couldn’t watch this happen right in front of him, he _ couldn’t-- _

“It’s interesting how you switch languages when you get riled up,” Jules was saying, “you did it earlier, with Nicholas, and I think it would be fun to ask Nicholas his observations on the matter, if it applies when--”

“If you breathe a word of this to him, I’ll kill you,” said Seiji flatly, in the voice he used when he was truly angry, and Jules seemed to realize he had crossed the line, and began to apologize, and Nicholas walked out the door, only texting Seiji when he had gotten on the Metro, to make sure that he couldn’t possibly intercept him, and went straight back to the hotel.

  
  


************************

The entire train ride back Nicholas felt like he was holding his breath. His phone had kept going off until he switched it off, and then he just sat there, looking at his shoes, until they finally got to the stop. 

When Nicholas got to the lobby, he took the elevator all the way to the rooftop terrace, where there was a small garden, with a bench and a tiny cat, sleek and black with a matching collar and a bell. 

Nicholas went and sat next to her where she lay watching the sunset, and he put his head in his hands and cried and cried and cried.

He had known this whole time that this thing, whatever it was, with Seiji had an expiration date. Nicholas scrubbed at his face angrily, pressing his fingers into his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. 

Who could blame Seiji? Jules was brilliant, classy, sickeningly handsome, with an insane pedigree. 

He was everything Nicholas was not. Everything that Seiji deserved.

Later Nicholas would be happy for them, he would.

It was just-- Paris was incredible, yesterday had been one of the best days of his life, and the way Seiji had been acting-- Nicholas had started to wonder if maybe there was a chance that--

When Nicholas gave another muffled sob, the tiny cat mewed in response, her tail held up in a question mark, her slit eyes on his, worried.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Nicholas said to her, the words garbled with tears. “This was always going to happen, why the hell would I expect anything different…”

The cat brushed her head against his leg, purring, and he knelt down to pet her when a stick broke behind him. She darted off, and Nicholas held his breath. _ Please, don’t be-- _

“Nicholas,” said a deep voice, and Nicholas froze.

Seiji dropped to his knees, and then he was right in front of Nicholas, his hands on Nicholas’ shoulders, dark eyes trained on him, hair mussed, still wearing the striped shirt that made him look like a sailor, silly and gorgeous and not his.

_ Never _ his.

“I-- I, it’s nothing,” Nicholas said desperately, his eyes burning as much as his cheeks. _ He’s never going to stop until he gets to the bottom of this, and I don’t think I can lie right now, I’ve fucked it up royally, God, he won’t even want to be friends after-- _Nicholas chewed the inside of his cheek to make himself stop. 

“Seiji,” he begged, “tell me what I did wrong today. _ Please_, like you did on the plane.”

“I’m sorry, _ mon petit loup_,” said Seiji. He traced the edge of Nicholas’ jaw with a rough, cool hand, and his eyes were sad. “I can’t be mean to you when you’re like this, even if it’s just pretend.”

Nicholas squeezed his own eyes shut, his breath shuddering in his chest, and Seiji took him in his arms, warm and solid, rocking him back and forth, but the more he melted into those arms, the worse he felt, because he was imagining someone else there instead, and Nicholas cried into Seiji’s shoulder like a whipped dog until the sun had set and the streetlamps had come on.

“What happened?” Seiji asked, his hand anchoring the back of Nicholas’ neck, after Nicholas had managed to get himself under control, barring a monstrous case of the hiccups.

“It’s not a big deal,” Nicholas said miserably, in between hiccupping. “I don’t blame, I mean, we never-- we never said-- and I just... you know, it took me off guard, I wasn’t expecting to--”

“Your father,” Seiji said, as if he couldn’t contain himself anymore, and Nicholas sucked in a lungful of air in one great gulp, the shock curing his hiccups. “He wasn’t supposed to be here,” Seiji finished, and his voice was measured and hushed, remote like the vacuum of space, cold and dead. 

For once in his life, Nicholas was grateful for his fucked up family. “It’s OK, Seiji,” he said. “I think I was just-- surprised to see him, that’s all.”

“You were surprised,” said Seiji. “And that’s why I found you up here crying your eyes out.”

Nicholas pressed himself against Seiji, hiding his face in his shoulder. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“I very much doubt that,” said Seiji pointedly, but thankfully he stopped asking Nicholas any more questions. He sat there holding him, running his other hand down Nicholas’ back, firm and slow, over and over again until Nicholas was breathing nice and even, and had stopped shaking altogether. 

“Do you need me to carry you?” Seiji asked, and Nicholas blushed, shaking his head. He wiped his face and got up, Seiji’s arm tight around him. 

When they got to the room, Seiji all but shoved him into the shower, and he only realized when he stepped out onto the wet tile that he hadn’t brought his clothes in. When he came in the bedroom Seiji had turned down the cover, and he was naked save for his boxer briefs, his usual pyjamas nowhere in evidence. 

“Come to bed,” he said. 

“Give me a second,” Nicholas said.

Seiji got up then, pulling him onto the bed and taking his towel off.

“Don’t get dressed,” he said, pressing against Nicholas, skin to skin, and then he tugged the blanket over them, and his hands were on Nicholas’ back, and he was touching Nicholas everywhere, pressing Nicholas into him and stroking him gentle and slow, like the night before. 

“You stay right here with me,” Seiji said into Nicholas’ hair, anchoring him into place.

_ I want to stay with you forever. _

Except Nicholas wasn’t halfway to the Moon tonight, he was stuck firmly on the ground, no more dreaming, and he thought about Jules and trembled, and Seiji held him tight, so tight, and it was warm and dark under the covers, and Seiji was saying something, low and passionate and fierce.

“I know you think it’s inevitable,” he said. “But I swear to you right fucking now, this will _ never _ happen again.”

Seiji was talking about his father, of course. Seiji didn’t know what Nicholas suspected about Jules, or how Seiji had been affected by his flirting. All those words were about something else, and Nicholas knew that, but he wasn’t about to tell Seiji.

He couldn’t, without explaining why it mattered.

So he lay there in Seiji’s arms, Seiji burying his face in Nicholas’ hair, stroking him and petting him and murmuring the craziest shit to him, swearing that Nicholas didn’t need to worry.

“I’m going to take care of it, little heartbreaker, take care of all of it, and when I’m through, you won’t have to deal with this anymore. I _ promise_.”

And the craziest thing of all was, Nicholas almost believed him.

************* 

The next morning, Nicholas woke up curled around Seiji in a golden pool of sunlight, and he rolled his shoulders back, stretching his arms as far as they could go, and pushed his face into Seiji’s side.

“Finally up, I see,” murmured Seiji, carding a hand through his hair, the other busy on his phone. The sheets were soft and warm like butter, and the window was open. The view outside was a beautiful dream, and he was in Paris with the boy he loved, and before he remembered what had happened, Nicholas had a moment of sheer bliss. 

“We should go to breakfast now or we won’t have time before the tournament,” Seiji said. “Jules told me that they have excellent crepes here, but we need to go soon or they’ll run out.” 

_ Jules_.

The tips of Nicholas’ fingers tingled, tiny sparks racing up his hands, numbing him from his shoulders to his chest, but not quickly enough. He couldn’t get enough air, no matter how quickly he breathed, and the warmth he had been feeling was revealed for what it was: an illusion.

Everything about the room was perfectly proportioned, immaculate and well turned out, the breeze wafting the wafer thin curtains, surrounding a four star view. 

It was stupid to think he belonged here. It was stupid to think he ever could.

Seiji was still talking, his voice vibrating under Nicholas’ cheek, but everything was slow and heavy, like he was underwater. He was running his hands up Nicholas’ arms now, staring into his eyes and frowning, and before Nicholas could think of a pleasant lie (or even a barely serviceable one) he had tugged Nicholas all the way onto his chest again, soothing him and stroking him like he had last night. 

Eventually the dizziness went away, and Nicholas floated back down to earth, back to Paris, back to lying in Seiji’s arms, naked and tender. Nicholas felt his muscles relax, unable to sustain their tension in the face of Seiji’s warm heat, felt his heart slow, felt his head come to rest under Seiji’s chin, and he sighed. “I’ll be ready to go soon,” he said.

“Take your time,” Seiji murmured. “You had a rough night last night.”

“But I thought--”

“Take your time,” said Seiji, running a firm hand down his spine. “Paris isn’t going anywhere.”

Nicholas fell back asleep then, and when he woke up the next time Seiji was standing above him, already dressed in his fencing whites, the little wrinkle perched above his nose.

“I’m going to the tournament,” he said. 

“_Fuck_,” said Nicholas. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I’ll miss your match.”

Seiji looked at him askance. “It’s the last day for juniors, and it finishes up early, and you’re exhausted. I just thought you could rest here, and I’d come to get you when I finished.”

“But I always watch your matches,” Nicholas cried, hurt.

“I know, but you barely slept last night,” said Seiji. “And…” He adjusted his sleeves, his eyes on his cuffs. “And I fight the leaders today.”

“What difference does that make?”

“You’ll see him, Nicholas,” said Seiji bluntly, “and you’re already upset.” 

Nicholas flinched before he could stop himself. “I’m OK,” he said, in a small voice.

“You’re obviously not,” Seiji snapped. “And I go up against Jesse first thing.” 

_ He’s talking about my dad. _

“It’s fine,” said Nicholas. “Really it is.”

“_Mon loup, _” said Seiji. “Quit lying to me, it’s not fine at all, it’s plain that you--”

“Call me that nickname all you like, I’m not some little puppy for you to protect,” said Nicholas, fingers clamped down on the blanket.

“Aren’t you?” said Seiji, and Nicholas glared up into his face, pulling the blanket around his hips, but Seiji yanked it through his fingers, leaving him naked and furious in front of him.

“Was that supposed to intimidate me, Katayama?” he said, seething. 

“As if I _ could_.” Seiji ran his hands through his hair, wrecking his precisely calibrated part. “Nothing intimidates you, Cox,” he said. “Even when it should, even when it could hurt you, even when it could break your heart, even and _ especially _ then, you give no fucks.”

“I’m not supposed to be scared of _ you_.” Nicholas’ mouth twitched. “You told me you’d never hurt me,” he said, and the way his voice cracked made him cringe inside. 

Seiji’s face changed then, got even fiercer and sterner than usual, and he shoved Nicholas down on the bed, unzipping his jacket and stripping off his clothes with a rapid, deadly grace. 

“I did,” he growled, naked and furious above him. “And I meant it, Nicholas Cox, and I think you need me to show you just how much.” He squeezed Nicholas then, _ hard _, and Nicholas whimpered, baring his throat, and even though he knew he would hate himself for it later, he unfolded beneath Seiji easy and swift as ever, falling apart in his rough, strong hands, and when they were done he didn’t want it to be over and it seemed neither did Seiji, because he kissed him and kissed him until his phone started going off, and then he cursed eloquently and threw on all his clothes, running off to the tournament sweaty with mussed hair and smelling like the beach and sex.

At the door he turned, glaring at Nicholas. “Don’t come,” he said. “I’m not kidding. I will be fucking livid if I see you in that crowd, Nicholas, and I will make what happened after my journal look like child’s play.”

He looked very serious about it, serious enough that Nicholas even considered not going.

For approximately five seconds. 

Then he put on his t-shirt and jeans and hoodie and headed out. 

The competition yesterday had whittled down the number of players significantly, so much so that only one arena was needed. That made it easy to locate Seiji, impatiently pacing on the strip, and it also made it easy to locate (and avoid) Jules. 

Jesse was nowhere to be found, though his dad was searching for him by the bleachers and worriedly glancing at his watch, but Nicholas had a hunch he knew where he’d disappeared to, and sure enough he was over in the corner by the potted fern, still with that forlorn look in his eye, when Nicholas took him aside.

“Still no Gene, huh?”

“No,” said Jesse curtly. 

_ Fuck, and I meant to text him last night. _

“I’m sure he’ll call soon,” said Nicholas, and Jesse’s jaw clenched, a muscle moving in his cheek. 

“If you do hear from him,” he said, “you can tell him not to bother. Since I’m obviously not a priority.”

“You mean, the inter-team league isn’t a priority,” said Nicholas.

“Yeah,” said Jesse. “Right. The league. You can also tell your dumbass captain that I knew he was full of shit from the beginning, so no harm, no foul.” He folded his arms together, the skin around his eyes tense and miserable, and shivered.

“Where’s your hoodie?”

“I threw it away,” said Jesse, rubbing his hands over his face again. “Look, I appreciate the concern and all, but I’m fine. I gotta go wipe the floor with your boyfriend now. See ya.” 

And he stomped off before Nicholas could correct him.

Nicholas snuck around to watch them, sitting on the tiptop of the bleachers with his own hoodie around his ears, and even though he kept seeing Jules out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t regret it.

Seeing Seiji fence, even after all this time, never grew old. 

Jesse was brilliant as ever, his unhappiness having no effect on his unerring instincts, but Seiji was matching him touch for touch, parries and ripostes rippling through his graceful, lean form as easy as a stone through water, and on the final point Jesse went for Seiji’s blade in fourth but Seiji weathered the assault, and then Jesse hesitated, just for a millisecond, on his recovery, and if he was fighting anyone else it wouldn’t have mattered, but he was fighting Seiji Katayama, the best fighter Nicholas had ever seen, and Seiji took the opening and the match in one perfect, final move.

Jesse took off his mask, his golden hair sticking to the sides of his head, and he shook Seiji’s hand, and Seiji had a strange expression on his face, not triumphant at all, and it seemed like there was a wrinkle above his nose, but Nicholas must be seeing things.

Nicholas fought his way down the bleachers, elbowing people aside, and he would have gone right up and hugged Seiji, because he knew what a victory over Jesse must mean to Seiji, but before he got the chance Seiji had followed Jesse off the piste, and then Nicholas remembered that Seiji had threatened him not to come upon pain of death, and he might want to think about that before he came to congratulate him.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes, watching as Jesse looked behind him and motioned Seiji to follow him out the door.

_ What the…? _

“Fuck it,” Nicholas said, to no one in particular, and plunged back into the crowd after them.

************************************

Seiji and Jesse had disappeared into the back area of the stadium, the roped off part meant for competitors only, and since everyone else was either eliminated like Nicholas, in the locker room getting ready, or on the strip, it was deserted. Nicholas flashed his badge at the guard and jogged down the hall. 

He ended up at the junction of two long corridors, with no idea which one they’d gone down, when the creak of a door opening gave him just enough warning to duck into an empty room. Rapid footfalls approached and then he caught a glimpse of Jesse striding past, his bag on his shoulder. Nicholas’ phone chirped in his pocket, low but audible-- and Jesse stopped mid stride, while Nicholas mouthed a string of obscenities that would make Eugene proud.

But his worry was for nothing, because Jesse paid no mind to Nicholas. He dug in his duffel, whipping his phone out and scrolling down, and all his attention was fixed upon it, to such a degree that Nicholas could have been right in front of him and he wouldn’t have noticed. 

Jesse stared at the screen for a good minute, long after he had surely realized that he didn’t have any messages, and then he got something else out of his bag, a dark blue hoodie that he hadn’t thrown away after all, and he pulled it over his head, snuggling himself into the collar and taking a deep breath, his blue eyes suspiciously wet, and heading off to the hotel proper.

Nicholas turned to watch him go, fighting the weirdest urge to run after him, and if it had been anyone but Seiji at the other end of the hall, maybe he would have, but in the end he turned and went back down the opposite direction. 

The closer he got the more anxious he became, because if Jesse was gone then what was Seiji doing? 

What was Seiji doing with Robert Coste, whose voice he could hear even now, down the hall?

“Jesse told me,” Coste was saying, in a loud voice, that was getting louder by the minute, “that you were thinking of transferring to Exton. But I get the impression that you lied to him, that you set this up for some reason known only to you. I thought you were better than that, Seiji, and I don’t appreciate you wasting his time or mine.”

“You’re hardly one to talk about _ etiquette_,” said Seiji, deliberate and slow, drawing the word out the way he did when he was beyond fury. “Considering how you’ve treated your own son.”

Nicholas shivered as a line of cold, icey and sharp, ran down his back like someone had raked the tip of a sword down his spine. He peeked through the doorway, ducking behind a giant potted fern and peering through the leaves, where he could see Seiji and his father, squaring off against each other as though it was the beginning of a match.

“How I’ve treated my son?” exclaimed Coste, rubbing his brow with his hand. “I’m surprised at you, Seiji. I thought you were more mature than this. You don’t need to transfer your little schoolboy rivalry with Jesse over to me,” he said reproachfully, shaking his head and heading for the door as Nicholas backed against the wall, edging behind a large fern. “That’s between the two of you.” 

“I’m not talking about Jesse!” roared Seiji. “I’m talking about _ Nicholas_!” 

Coste stopped dead in his tracks, turning around nice and slow. Seiji waited until he was all the way around before he started talking again, and the words spewed out of him like blood from a wound, like he had been waiting to say them for long enough that the pressure had built up to levels utterly intolerable. “You know, _ Nicholas_, the son that you abandoned. That you ignored. That you left behind. _ That _ son. Tell me, what is the proper, polite way to behave as a deadbeat father? Because I’d _ love _ to know.”

“He told you,” said Coste.

“No. I was there when you tried to pay him off.”

“But that was--- why confront me now?”

“Don’t play innocent,” Seiji said, arms folded and shoulders squared. “You know why. Because you’re too fucking selfish to leave well enough alone.”

“I honestly don’t--”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Seiji in a dangerously soft voice, and Coste shut up. “Right now, you are going to stand right there and you are going to listen to me, and then you’re going to do exactly what I say, because if you don’t, I am going to light your reputation up and burn it to the ground. Understand?”

“Yes,” said Coste. “But I was afraid to lose my wife, and my--”

“I don’t know where you got the impression that I care to hear any of your weak, pathetic justifications, because I don’t.” Seiji’s fingers trembled, clenched around the strap of his bag in a stranglehold. “Your son is--I’ve never known--” Seiji gritted his teeth, as if he was in pain, and took a deep breath before he continued. “Nicholas is a little sweetheart, gentle and loving and kind, and he’d keep giving you chances until you shattered his heart into a million pieces, and you’re not talking to him right now.” 

Seiji smiled, and it was not a nice smile. “You’re talking to _ me_.” 

“I see,” said Coste, going pale beneath his tan.

“I hope, for your sake, that you do,” said Seiji, clearing his throat. “There’s no reason why this has to be difficult. I believe we both want the same thing, for different reasons. You wish you weren’t Nicholas’ father, because you’re a fool who values his reputation over his own son, and I wish you weren’t Nicholas’ father, because he deserves someone better than you’ll ever be.”

Coste opened his mouth, stared at Seiji, and then closed it again.

“I think we can come to some sort of arrangement, don’t you?” asked Seiji, and Coste nodded, once.

The arrangement was simple.

Coste agreed to leave Nicholas the fuck alone, as Seiji so bluntly put it, in exchange for which Seiji kindly refrained from sharing with the papers the tantalising fact that the first gold medalist fencer America had in years had a son he’d run out on, a son he’d cheated on his wife to conceive, only to abandon without as much as a single payment of child support.

“If it gets out, won’t that hurt Nicholas, too?” Coste made the mistake of asking.

And Seiji smiled again, that ghastly smile. “I’m glad you brought that up,” he said. “There is something else I’ve been considering, but as this is a gentleman’s agreement I hesitated to mention it. 

“It’s true Nicholas would be horrified if people found out. Which is why I worked out another plan, as well. It involves me and Jesse, and how scandalous it would be if somehow it were found out that we had been fixing matches… that you’d paid me off to lose...”

Seiji cocked his head and regarded Coste with the same cold, assessing gaze he had given his son on the strip. “To the tune of $200,000.”

“The blank check,” Coste said.

“It’s not blank anymore,” said Seiji.

“It would destroy Jesse’s Olympic chances.”

“I’m fond of Jesse, despite his arrogance and his idiocy, but when it comes to a choice between him and Nicholas, there would never be any choice for me at all.”

“It would destroy yours, too,” said Coste.

“There’s always 2024,” said Seiji silkily. “We both know I’m good for the long haul.”

“I don’t understand why you’d cripple the American shot for gold in Tokyo for someone who’ll likely never even--”

“You don’t know what Nicholas can and can’t achieve,” Seiji said, his eyes dark and burning, and Nicholas felt something deep inside his chest uncurl, something that had been small and cramped for so long, finally free. “You never have and you never will. You traded your chance to know your son, a brilliant fencer and the best person I’ve ever met, for a _ medal _, and all you need to know is that you’ll rue the day you make him cry again. Rest assured of that.”

They shook on it then, Seiji’s face tense with barely concealed rage, and Coste’s a mixture of shame and fear.

Nicholas huddled behind the fern as Coste headed back down the hall, following Jesse’s steps from earlier, and Seiji waited until he was gone before he left, pulling up his phone. Nicholas thanked God for what had happened with Jesse earlier, because Seiji was texting him to check up on him, and it would have given him away, but he had put his phone on silent, and he was safe. 

He waited until Seiji had vanished down the other end of the hall before he looked at his messages.

(Are you feeling any better?) Seiji had written. (I have a surprise for you.)

Seiji was headed back to the room then. The room that he fully expected to find Nicholas in.

_ Ohhhh shit. _

Nicholas burst out of the emergency exit doors like a bat out of hell, racing down the street for the Metro at full speed, and he just barely made the platform as the train was about to depart. He felt a trickle of fear at a dark head of hair a row ahead of him, but it was a false alarm, and he made it to the room a good five minutes before Seiji did, enough time to drag off his clothes, mess up his hair, and curl up into the comforter before the door opened slowly, and there was a huffing noise.

“Dear god,” Seiji whispered, but he sounded amused, and a little relieved. _ He really was worried about me. _ He walked over, pulling down the covers in one swift yank. “This is egregious,” he said, his mouth creasing at Nicholas’ yelp. “It’s three in the afternoon. Wake up!”

“Alright, already,” said Nicholas. “Cool it, would you?”

Seiji studied him carefully, and Nicholas was trying to control his face, but he must have pulled it off, because the little wrinkle didn’t come back. 

To his surprise though, when he finally got ready, Seiji didn’t lead him back to the outside, but rather further into the hotel.

“Seiji, what--”

“You’ll see.”

They went through a winding path, first left through one doorway and then right through another, and Nicholas got all mixed up, and he was starting to worry that Seiji had finally gone and done it, lost all his marbles, when they went through a final door, and they were suddenly, abruptly, in the middle of the courtyard, where a single cherry tree bloomed, its delicate petals scattered across the garden like rain, and Seiji had told his dad off. 

Seiji had told his dad that he was a brilliant fencer, that he was-- 

_ “--the best person I’ve ever met--” _

_ \--and he told him he’d give up Tokyo-- _

_ \--for me-- _

“I know it isn’t much,” said Seiji, and there were flowers in his hair, and he’d be beyond irritated if he knew. “But you had a long day and I thought that--”

Nicholas grabbed his hands then, holding them in his own, rough palms gentle against his own while the cherry petals whispered down in the breeze.

“I love you,” Nicholas said to those hands, throat aching, head pounding. 

_ I ruined it, I knew I would if I said it but I couldn’t, I couldn’t not anymore-- _

And then sandpaper fingers were on his skin, on his cheeks, as Seiji put his face in his hands then, those calloused, gentle hands, and turned his face up, pressing his lips against Nicholas’ mouth fast and unstoppable as his fleche. The kiss was long and thorough, and when it was done Nicholas’ heart pounded as wildly as if he was in the Olympic Trials right this very minute. 

“Shhh, _ mon coeur_,” Seiji breathed, his forehead hot against Nicholas’, his eyes close and dark and true, and Nicholas gasped.

“That-- you said that word means, that it means--”

“I did. It does. And I _ do_.” Seiji leaned forward, hands firm on Nicholas’ face, but he didn’t press their mouths together again.

He just stared, nose brushing against the tip of Nicholas’, lips parted, like he had that night in Nicholas’ bed, the night before he had rescued him, before he had kissed him until he was breathless, fucked Nicholas’ brains clean out of his head and turned his whole world upside down. 

“You love me,” Nicholas said, dumbfounded. This close Seiji was white hot, eyes burning, passionate and brilliant and gorgeous and he loved Nicholas, and he was radiant enough to make Nicholas’ eyes ache. 

“You’re far too sweet, that’s always been the problem.” Seiji’s hands brushed his cheeks, wiping away the tears that slid down them. “You have about as much instinct for self preservation as Bobby’s puppy. Idiots like that despicable piece of shit Alex, or your craven fool of a father… you give them credit they don’t deserve, and in so doing you grant them something priceless: your love and your trust, when they merit neither.

“You need someone to protect you,” Seiji said, eyes bright as stars. “And you have him. I’ll never let any of those unworthy pricks hurt you _ ever _ again.”

Seiji sank his teeth into Nicholas’ throat then, deep and sharp and right. It wasn’t long before they were back in the room and Nicholas was naked on his back on the king sized bed, before Seiji was draped over him, miles of skin covering him, protecting him, holding him steady and warm. He ran a firm hand down Nicholas’ side, his thumb lingering around his hip, and he was whispering in French against the delicate skin of Nicholas’ neck, like always.

Only now Nicholas could understand.

« _ My love _ , » Seiji was saying as he kissed him, « _My dear, sweet little friend, _ » as he touched Nicholas’ scar, and Nicholas soared high above everything, but not scary like in the Ferris wheel, but safe, in Seiji’s arms, where he’d never let anyone hurt him, where he’d take him apart piece by piece and then put him back together again, better than before. 

“Seiji,” he cried out. “Please. _Please_.”

“Nicholas,” said Seiji. He kissed the place between jaw and neck. Before Nicholas could beg again, he coiled around him, grinding into him, his fingers sinking into Nicholas’ hips.

« _ Mon coeur, ma moitié, mon petit loup _ , » Seiji said through clenched teeth, his eyes darker than a thundercloud. “You’re _ mine_, aren’t you, little heartbreaker? I make you feel so good, take care of you so well, that you’ll never need anyone else. Jules wanted to lure you away, but he never could match me, not on the piste and certainly not with you,” Seiji sneered, jealousy written over every inch of his face. “I want to hear you, hear how I make you feel,” he snarled. “Tell me, Nicholas.”

There was a single petal from the cherry blossoms still in Seiji’s raven hair, curling over the edge of his ear, and he had been afraid Nicholas would choose Jules over him?

_ Doesn’t he know? _

“I love you,” Nicholas said, pressing his lips against the flower, as his hips rose to meet Seiji’s without conscious thought, as his arms wrapped around Seiji, pressing him deeper, as deep as he could go. “Ah, I love you, Seiji, I love you!” Seiji clawed his back to ribbons then, biting a claim savage and sweet into Nicholas’ shoulder as he pulsed inside him, growling and cursing and he never lost control, he never-- _ never-- _ not before Nicholas and at that thought Nicholas came like a lightning strike, electric and surging and unstoppable, howling like a wolf caught in a trap, desperate and wild and not giving a shit if anyone heard him or not.

“We should tell Jesse I’m better,” Nicholas said afterwards, both of them sticky side by side on the sheets. “Maybe we can go to breakfast tomorrow.”

“I don’t think we need to tell him.” Seiji hopped off the bed, giving him a cocky smile. “I think everyone on the fourth floor knows that you’re feeling better,” he said, tall and naked and perfect, and Nicholas felt his entire body go pink, all at once. 

“I’ll be back,” Seiji said. « _ My darling _. » 

Nicholas meant to stay awake, really he did, but it was nice and cozy on the bed, and Seiji had made love to him so good, and for so long, that before he returned from his shower, Nicholas had passed out, dead asleep.

************** 

The next morning they were meant to meet Jules and Jess for breakfast at the hotel, and Seiji got up at the entirely uncivilized hour of eight to get a spot in line for the crepes. 

“If you’re not there when I get them, I’m eating yours,” he said, and Nicholas wasn’t entirely sure he was kidding, so he jumped in the shower and then headed downstairs, even though he was only half awake at best.

When he got there, the line was clear out to the lobby, and Seiji stood in the middle of it, scrolling through his phone and sighing. He had on a button down and tie with a blazer, which Nicholas knew he considered casual because he was wearing it with blue jeans, and his hair was far too styled and fancy for this early in the morning and Nicholas felt a warmth squeezing in his chest, and it didn’t go away until he turned and started the hunt for a table.

There were two boys he vaguely recognized from the tournament there, and it looked like they were almost done with their food. Nicholas hung back by the wall and waited, and while he waited he was close enough to hear their conversation. 

“You saw who’s in line right?” one said, in a Southern drawl, jerking his head towards where Seiji waited, sour and sulking, in the interminable line, and the other smiled.

“I’m not blind, thanks mate,” he said. “The champion of the whole thing. Katayama… I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Dunno, he’s an amazing fencer, I wouldn’t--”

“Nah, not that, I expected that.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You know. The boyfriend. I heard rumors that someone had melted our favorite Night King, but I never expected them to be true. Yet there he is, head over heels for that doe-eyed fencer with the brilliant smile, what’s his name?”

The other boy made a humming noise, while Nicholas felt his face go an interesting shade of magenta.

“Nicholas Cox. And yeah, I always thought he’d go for someone serious and intense, like Coste maybe, or one of the twins.”

“Nah, you know what they say. Opposites attract. Did you see how he was staring that first day, when Cox had to change his shirt-- like he wanted to take him right there on the strip, in front of everyone. I felt the heat from that, and I’m as celibate as a door.”

“Did you hear what happened to Alex?” 

“Fuck, tell me about it. Katayama broke his nose for looking the wrong way at Cox, and that was _ before _ they started dating. He’d be lucky to get away with a broken jaw now.”

They gathered up their trays, and Nicholas sat down after they left, trying to get rid of the blush on his cheeks, but he must not have been very successful, because when Jules sat down next to him he giggled.

“Late night, huh?” he asked while Nicholas rubbed his eyes, and Nicholas went pink around the ears as well, for good measure.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered.

“Oh, don’t be,” Jules said. “Besides, the way I figure it, you owe me a thank you, not an apology.”

“A thank you?” Nicholas blinked at him.

“I’ve been competing against Seiji Katayama for years.” Jules snickered, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know what will happen when I flirt with the angel-faced boyfriend of the most anal-rententive, possessive martinet I’ve ever met? Please, I knew it was only a matter of time before he laid you down on that featherbed and fucked you senseless like the batshit thoroughbred he is, making you scream loud enough for all of Paris to hear lest you be tempted by my foreign wiles.” 

Nicholas felt his jaw drop open. “You planned this?”

“Oh yes,” said Jules. “And by the way-- you’re welcome,” he said, and winked.

Seiji came back then, his tray laden with croissants, a curious light in his eye. “Here you go,” he said, dropping it all in front of Nicholas.

“You don’t want any?” Nicholas asked. 

“I ate already,” said Seiji. “Besides, I just thought you might need some extra energy, after last night.” He narrowed his eyes at Jules. “Nicholas was under the weather,” he said, by way of explanation. “But he’s much better now.”

“So I heard,” said Jules, raising an eyebrow, and Seiji settled back in his chair, curling an arm around Nicholas while he chowed down on the crepes, a distinctly smug expression on his face.

“I’ll bet you did,” he said. 

  
  


******************************

Nicholas managed to sneak off during breakfast and call Eugene, who had apparently shattered his old phone and lost everything, including his contacts, and hadn’t gotten a new one till last night.

“Jesse called me?” he said.

“Twice,” said Nicholas, and Eugene sighed, dropping a heartfelt _ ‘fuck’ _ into the phone.

“Do you mind if I --?”

“Of course,” said Nicholas, and no sooner had he finished the words than Eugene had hung up. He went ahead and texted Jesse another invitation to breakfast, even though he had ignored the first one, and then he went back inside, where Seiji and Jules were still in the middle of arguing about a call a ref had made on one of Jules’ matches.

Nicholas was down to his last croissant when Jesse showed up, his hair perfect once more, snug in his Kings’ Row hoodie. 

“I thought you said you threw it away,” said Nicholas innocently, and Jules glanced over at them, an eyebrow raised at his tone.

Jesse shrugged, his cheeks pinking up. “I may have exaggerated slightly,” he said. 

“But that’s completely out of character for you,” said Nicholas, widening his eyes, and Jesse scowled, stealing his croissant off the tray with no shame. 

“Whatever,” he said, sticking out his tongue, and Nicholas was already regretting inviting his annoying ass, but then Jesse’s phone vibrated and he looked down with a shy smile that had nothing in common with his normal smirk, and Nicholas felt a surge of protectiveness for his half brother that was more than a little alarming. 

“How’s Gene?” Nicholas asked, and Jesse replied, without thinking: “Oh, he’s fine.”

Jules slapped his hand against the table, and everyone started, Seiji in particular glaring at Jules like an angry hedgehog. 

“Someone’s locked you down, Coste, and no one told me?!” he cried, deeply offended, and breakfast descended into chaos then, Jesse going red as a beet and insisting that Jules had misread the entire situation, Seiji attempting to mediate while wearing a look that was an even mixture of exasperated and disgusted, and Nicholas watching it all, trying not to laugh his ass off and failing miserably.

**********************************************

Jesse had to say goodbye to his father, who was catching an early flight out, and Jules was supposed to go out with a friend of his, so they decided to get together in the late afternoon. 

After making plans to meet up at the Coulée verte (“That’s the inspiration for the highline in New York, isn’t it?” asked Jesse, as he was leaving. “It is indeed,” Jules said. “You should take a picture with me there, your boyfriend will be jealous.” The growl Jesse gave then even got Seiji to raise an eyebrow.) with Jules and Jesse later, they headed back to the lobby to say goodbye, and when they split up Jules gave a knowing chuckle.

“Going back up to the room, are we? Aren’t you even a little tired, Katayama?” he said, and Nicholas went all red again, which seemed to be the pattern for the morning.

“Some of us possess more _ stamina _ than others,” Seiji said, but when he dragged Nicholas inside, he didn’t pounce on him right away.

He waited until Nicholas got all the way inside, and yanked him into a long series of kisses, slow and gentle, stroking him all over, and Nicholas melted into a little pleased puddle, panting under him like they had all the time in the world. 

“The next time I take you to France,” Seiji said at last, his chapped palm stroking Nicholas’ cheek, “it won’t be for fencing. It’ll be us, us and no one else,” he finished fiercely, his eyebrows lowering as he no doubt thought of Robert Coste and how upset Nicholas had been.

Seiji kissed him again, and when he was done, he bit Nicholas on the neck, a sharp, tender prickle, whispering in French against his skin. 

« _ My darling _, » he said, kissing where he had bitten.

Nicholas stared at Seiji, at his raven hair and his midnight eyes and the intensity that lay behind them, and before he thought the better of it, blurted out: “Am I yours?”

“Of course you’re mine,” Seiji exploded, incredulous, rearing back from Nicholas as if he’d been bitten. “Why the hell would you ask that?!”

Nicholas turned bright pink. “I don’t know, forget it, I--”

“Is this that inane fixation again? That thing you have about me not being happy or whatever? About my _ feelings_,” Seiji said, curling his lip. “I thought I explained about that-- I thought I showed you all those times, showed you that you didn’t need to worry--

“I learned you like I learned my sword, so that my touch would move you like a blade in my hands. I took you to Montmartre, and you can see everything from there, _ everything-- _ I even highlighted the damn nicknames for you to read, but naturally you were too lazy to do that--”

“Seiji,” said Nicholas, blushing harder. 

_ Is that what he’s been trying to do this whole time? Prove himself to me? _

“For fuck’s sake,” Seiji said, nettled, muttering as he dug into his bag. “Just because I’m not good with pretty words like Jules--” He squinted at Nicholas again, and whatever he saw in his face decided him. “I can see we need to go over it again.” He tossed something onto Nicholas’ chest.

It was the cock ring.

“No, you don’t understand,” Nicholas said. His face felt like Seiji had lit it on fire.

But Seiji wasn’t listening. His hands were at his collar, sliding the tie out from around his neck, and then he was holding the silk taut between his fingers, pulling on it, the faintest red on his cheeks, and advancing towards Nicholas like they were on the piste, aggressive and focused. “You are an astoundingly poor student,” he said. “I’ll have to keep doing this, won’t I--- have to keep putting you in your place.” He stared at Nicholas, midnight eyes fierce and commanding. 

“In your place, where you belong, which is _ obviously _ with _ me_.” 

Nicholas swallowed, taking in Seiji’s hands where they clutched the silk of the tie, rough and gentle and perfect.

“Yes,” he said softly. “You will.”

“Strip,” Seiji snapped, narrowing his eyes. “_Heartbreaker_.”

And they went over it.

In _ excruciating _ detail.

  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO HOO it's finally finished!! If you made it this far I salute you, and also ask of you-- please comment if you can and let me know what you think! I'm super curious to see if you guys liked Jules, enjoyed Coste getting his ass handed to him (because boy did I enjoy writing it ;), and if anyone has been to Paris did it seem realistic? I've never been so I did a TON of research but the nerd in me is curious so...
> 
> ALSO HAPPY HOLIDAYS ALL and thanks for being a great fandom, I love this community! :0)


End file.
